Everything goes in poetry:
bold, regular, and italics.
My first (accidental) prose-poetry, inspired by the Age of Surveillance Capitalism by Shoshana Zuboff.
This one is about pains and Paris.
Frustrated by dress-codes and gender roles, I penned this piece to release that teenage-angst.
Stepping into unfamiliar shoes, these words explore the plight of women in war-zones.
No fancy intro; this is about imposter syndrome.
A picture is worth a thousand words, but why pay more when less than a hundred can do the trick?
Take me back.