Napkin Poem
True Skalde
No one can create this because it’s chaos in the moment
A specific chaos unreplicable
The game is different, the City is dead
The only time I liked Shakespeare was when Billy the Girl was reading it in your West Village apartment
“The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember’d”
But in reality I was high out of my head
“No Porn. No Carbs”
Nostalgia of Mud
Scrunchie Whore
Diseases, infections, obsessions
I don’t want this body anymore
The writer who doesn’t write
The poet who can’t be vulnerable
Eating dreams and drinking blue sky
I think of conscious and continuous bad decisions
Everyone knew you and I were fucking
But everyone but me knew who you were fucking
I fucking hate Washington Square Park pigeons
TO DO TODAY
Glasses repair
Write a poem
Pick up check
Have an orgasm
Tonight I’m sleeping in the bathtub
It soothes my comedown
Mike and Amer and Brian are in my bed
Snoring out of sync
Wailing
Spray paint proxy anarchism
Stop inviting me to torture you
Poor True Blue
He was so full of absolutes and declarations but they were always changing
That was the triviality of it all
Everything was so juicy and so alive and I wanted to make out all the time and swap spit and drink the nectar of my snowfall
Dispenser of pleasure
Domestic bender
We’re on a domestic bender!
I don’t want to be human, I want to be a girl
To him? I’ll never surrender
That’s illegal
I survived dimes square in ss ‘20
Celebrity magnet
Good actress, better liar
GOOD ACTRESS, BETTER LIAR
Pluscious
Hurt
Agony
Pain
Love it
His therapy was going nowhere
Two bridge bitch
Desperately random
Unfortunately iconic
Street angel
If you’re looking for a sign
It’s True, it’s me!
- July 2020
True Skalde is from nowhere and has lived everywhere, rarely staying anywhere for long. She is a classically trained ballerina, actress, producer, and retired party girl. She is currently writing poems and enjoying tragic sunsets in Los Angeles.