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A Bug Is A Human, A Human Is A Bug

Flowers dripped in sweat

as the humans started to wilt

under the gaseous star

some called the soul.

Dull patches of brown painted the sky

as shoes assaulted such a peaceful blue.

Gregors walked about, dying

only is apples were in close proximity.

Fragrances sounded so smooth,

18-wheeler's horns smelt like crowded dumpsters in summer,

violins rang without caller i.d.

(no one answered)

feelings demanded to be seen

(pain was wearing a fedora today)

the moon climbed up a ladder

(but not the top rung)

stars sat throughout the cafeteria

(they were so cliquey)

and the day began again.


I wrote this after my Magical Realism class, inspired by the doodle you see that I did a week earlier. In Magical Realism, everything is upside down and magical, the best part being that it is normalized and goes unquestioned. I love that concept. One book we read in that class was The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, which is why I mentioned Gregor (the main character in the book who is human but randomly becomes a cockroach). I wrote this poem as I day dreamed; dreams are something the surrealists studied and tried to recreate through art (whether that was painting, poetry, or fiction). I want to make more magical, surreal art. Here goes.

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