Millennial Haikus
Hi, everyone. In the last few weeks, I’ve started writing haikus on my phone. It’s become increasingly easy to think of a passing feeling or moment and conceptualize 5-7-5 syllables. I also feel like I’m using my general ed requirements from undergrad. I’ve decided to publish a selection below.
I cannot be a
passing priority. Now
I find my self worth.
I’ve never fallen
in love, but I tasted it
And choked it up fast.
I unfollowed you
to let you know it’s okay
we are not okay.
Permanent things
cannot be trusted unlike
the impermanent.
You say it wasn’t
true or real or us, ever —
Now true forever.
No one said it could
last this long; I’m impressed
these memories do.
I am not used to
being the free spirit; it’s
now not ironic.
I have so much to
tell you, but I will never
lie that close again.
Not comfortable
sharing my feelings without
liberal arts frills.
It was not love or
similar because I did
not consider death.
I will not text they
who must not be texted, though
they devour me.
Remind yourself of
your righteous anger before
you love her again.
Does anyone wave
at each other on Facebook
except fools we know?
We all concede to
our inner desires, though they
betray us faster.
Fluctuate between
cruelty and safety, I
cannot let you go.
Sad songs remind me
of happier times I miss
that you took away.
I won everything
you want — except you, and
that means I lost all.
I would give you the
world and make you my world, but
that would be foolish.
I never meant to
ghost, but my feelings did, and
I could not find them.
I did not ghost you,
I bcc’d you, which is
far better for you.
Who waits three days for
love? I’d rather wait a year
and never see you.
I never shaved for
you, which is Samson’s delight —
and also downfall.
For how long will you
possess my motivations
before I am me?
If I say enough,
”I am receptive,” will I
welcome the real thing?
Burned my mouth so now
I’m numb to pleasure, but not
this persistent pain.
Feelings find refuge
in both dark and morning light,
memories more so.
How cruel, foolish, and
ironic — our rejection
of their attention.
Suffocation is
just attention that we do
not wish to endure.
I wish it could be
romantic where I didn’t and
then did — but I don’t.
I am surprised how
hollow I feel talking to
you, such victory!
To hold hands reeks of
insecurity more than
earnestness and love.
Every first date is
just a future ex that you
will surely regret.
My victories are
the shards I keep embedded
in you when I’m gone.
You’re not nostalgia.
You are PTSD and
I cannot escape.
Now I have shared more
chicken soup for the soul than
I was prepared to.
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