It feels almost unreal, three years in the making from a crown I didn’t want to throw away in the trash. Then comes that moment when the pineapple finally appears after years of waiting.
Two thousand streams sounds like movement until, on the screen, the numbers look alive: 730 listeners over twelve months, 2,000 streams, 611 playlist adds, 475 saves, and 51 followers. Spotify even tells me I grew 72,900%.
That’s a bold move,
walking my dog down the lane.
You took my phone,
and dropped yourself in my speed dial.
You gave me a bold move,
a bold move.
just bold.
The struggle in this poem is the feeling of carrying depth in a time built for quick glances, short attention, and endless scrolling, where real thought can feel almost out of place.
I close my eyes,
and the sound blankets over me,
wrapping my body in static warmth.
A pulse, a flicker—
then her voice kicks in,
sultry, raw, stretching syllables like elastic.
A whisper, then a burn.
A cry disguised as cool.
That silent movement is what surprised me most, because outwardly it can look like nothing is happening while underneath the numbers are telling a completely different story.
"An artist’s reflection on attention, creativity, and the systems that train us to keep moving." — I was walking down a sidewalk in Los Angeles when I came across this stereo — out of place, quiet, and strangely present in a city that rarely stops moving. Photo by Christopher Sopher
