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Quite a lot of questionable poetry, poor pictures, and degrading doodles as preformed by the delightfully mediocre and possibly deranged Maya-Roisin Slater.

I’m Not Bitter

You have a bad attitude

With tattoos of sad girls and latitudes.

If you could mix emotions like you mix patterns

Maybe your girlfriend would delete her Tinder.

No wonder you love metal music, because your heart is all irony.

Sweet bae

Little internet princes and princesses.

I love how pop music makes you depressive

You have Biggie Smalls and Joni M in your record collection

Secret variety swiped from the online Urban Outfitters vinyl selection.

It’s embarrassing that all the best law schools accept you

Because you prefer working at Opus discussing premium shades of royal blue.

Your internet presence is neatly curated

Complete with long lines of emojis that you’ve punctuated.

:’-( :’-( :-‘( “”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”???……………===========%$$

Wow, that’s hilarious, you are really above it all.

Born post-internet

This sweet Apple angel had no chance

But to base all opinions on social justice blog rants.

Here’s to all my mid 90’s aesthetic loving generational voices

I’m hoping Pitchfork will encourage some better life choices.

Millions Of Secret Admirers

3,000 people each enchanting to someone


Sweaty bodies, long legs, and strong words


We are all running past one another


Pretending our destination is just beyond


Pretending the time is pending


A weak little fluttering heart


This emotional cholesterol that makes our tongues swell


How far we’ve come from our lizard brains


When survival urged the things we’d say


Humanity is a middle school chess game


Strategic, and slippery as the pieces are smeared with acne cream


We are all so terribly uncomfortable in some way


It’s baffling with this in mind we don’t all go for the hug


Or say the first hello


Instead we take note of incredible talent, funny freckles, and glimmering eyes from afar

Assuming they know just how lustrous they are.

The unexpected holy roller St. Vincent coming to Pemberton Music Festival 2014 | BeatRoute Magazine
The unexpected holy roller St. Vincent coming to Pemberton Music Festival 2014 | BeatRoute Magazine

Put your peepers on this creeper!

Not Making Eye Contact In July

Hot day

          Slow movements


A lack of impulse control

                                      A handful of berries


A quick ride on a bicycle

                                       20 minutes on a boat


Losing my ethics

                            Hanging up my work boots


Stuck avoiding the tasks that

                                                Make my life easy


Little girl changing daily

                                     Getting darker I notice


On a hot day

                     She has slow movements


You gave me love in letters attached to discount sweaters
Hoping you guessed the sizes correctly
Asking salesmen to from pictures inspect me
Little arms and legs growing feverishly in the distance.

The product of a free age and human impulse
It’s sweet how you depict me as a romantic notion
Thinking of your little rose across the ocean.

I’ve always preferred the black and white
Neatly spaced letters and casual anecdotes
With words we add intrigue, the powerful simplicity of an adjective, the bittersweet sentiment, in sentences life seems so clear.

They say there’s always more to the story
Maybe had you read between the lines you might’ve caught a glimpse
Of tears at 3am, shaky steps, drawing circles on the wall with sharpie marker, hydro bills, and my natural inclination for misbehavior.

“Don’t burn bridges!”
But I always ran for the matches
You just happened to be covered in kerosene.

I wish I could have read what I wanted
Pages stained with unforgivables
Society is so clinical with its aggressive encouragement of biological entitlement.

These genetics have made me sick
Fingers and toes the origin of which nobody knows
In ‘99 sending notes from Toronto I’m sure you thought love was enough
Little letters to help you feel like the one in control.

Bed Time Stories

A comforting whisper before bed

Dreadful dreams and a hollow morning

A sad poem to keep us boring

Some lackluster coos and fake adoring.

The coffee is cold and a quarter empty

The laundry hanging

Upstairs I hear banging

Nothing is unusual.

Except a couple ghouls on the couch

Some feelings which linger

And my cheeks which ache from all the laughter.

Dream Girls

So casually
Glamorous, demure, and dry.
More boring whimsy.

So casually,
Glamorous, demure, and dry.
Thin veils through I see.

Dream girls in white pearls
He described in many ways
Her beautiful laugh.

Honey Moon Phase

A couple gallons of still water and the promise of a beautiful moon

The present and the past and an unwavering hope for something shiny despite a cloudy sky

It’s June, it’s raining, and the dust settles to a murky mud.

Between Lines

So sure, so assured.
The nights impending, the days
Reflecting shadows.

Trucks, boats, and men in coats.