still shaky at using wordpress, but whatever its poem time!!

this one goes out to all my babygirls – i originally wanted to write it about social media/how we create a fictional identity online, but ended up making it about the difficulties of being an artist in the current state of the creative industry!! idk if its any good but. its in the world now lmao <3

//

Named Marcie Lane 

Aged twenty-one  

I’m here online!  

A real keyboard receiver. 

Coffee shop lover and caffeine fiend 

aspiring artist and oracle. 

/

Twice evicted language-painter  

fatally based in the UK 

stamped fatally basic in my cramped room  

with a damp pen and paper, 

I assume 

these fountain pen fingerprints mark my signature 

stamped “sick of you” on works in progress; 

this sickening world of stimulation 

dizzy on the spectrum.

 /

Marcie wrote first: 

Finally starting a new blog, 

lost the password and passed past words by 

but draft my laughter and leave love in a .TIF file. 

Spread the word about my return cause 

I lose my flat next week 

and flatly, we don’t speak much now 

but I won’t bore you now because 

I’ll find a new place soon! 

A space crafted to make art! 

I’ll fill your feed with some content soon 

(God knows, I’m not making “content”)

 /

So be content, my followers 

and rest your soul, my jury 

give yourself the honour, 

a peaceful arrest of paragraph gold. 

This palindrome portfolio you’ll find 

I’m quite a backwards woman. 

Don’t laugh, don’t leave yet 

don’t patronise me 

for I have more to show. 

/

Marcie wrote second: 

Hello again, my long lost friends! 

My apologies for forgetting, 

your persons end where light can’t bend 

so I forgot to send a message. 

Read green and blew a hole in my light-box  

(My supercomputer’s playing up!) 

Quantum electronic processor 

or am I quantum too? 

/

If I am don’t start looking, 

perception holds a sceptre and crown 

eyes wield your scattered policy  

blue iris, my own pupil casts me down 

forever reeling; bait and switch 

the bastard child of retina 

hooked with lines that sink too deep 

and honestly it makes you think,  

just who is “Marcie” really? 

/

It’s degraded – camera quality’s fine but 

glitter freezes, slow decline 

my candid, slouched photography  

that sows its seeds inside my home and  

sees hashtags in Schrödinger’s cat 

that laps at pictures, milky white memory 

makes the most of lens capped lashes 

repentance that flashes 

in the processed sense. 

/

Marcie wrote third: 

Final post for you guys, 

they say third time’s the charm. 

I tried for years to get off the ground 

and after interstellar ambition  

we held space stationary – 

our degrees are being outlawed. 

So put our faces on wanted posters 

and let the dustbowl whipping begin, 

quick draw and hide your notes 

like Class A 

timetabled dissolving of our careers 

signed by a cherubim post afternoon tea. 

/

They live, 

meanwhile we survive between sofa cushions 

loose change clank like spurs 

play to pay for next week’s games 

a regular day at the races. 

Cold feet on clicking “see more” below, I’m told 

the algo-rhythm’s hot for new arrivals. 

Abandoning my passions and passing up love 

“when in Rome” 

I’ll do as roamers do.