jocelyn paige murphy

a blog of sorts for poetry i have written recently

°🍎⋆.ೃ࿔*:・untitled – july 2025
i yearned to be old, to speak the language of the girls in their twenties who would smoke a cigarette but never like their taste, adopting growing pains like a dog that understands sentence structure but not meaning, food without thought. i have mothered the feeling of being unprofound by becoming a child who speaks in poetry and reads in prose, analyzing adulthood like abstract art before that of a realist, and i smear my years with the stuffed rabbit from my bassinet.