compilation of some Tinder poems

if you want me to swipe

left because

I smoke,


and digest the unknown,

I appreciate

the heads up

on how fucking

boring you are.



tell me your height again

especially compared

to that drugged up

docile tiger

you’re cuddled up with

while contemplating


ladyboys in Bangkok

in your bro t-shirt


filtered muscles

cuz I just can’t get

enough of

your fuck boy shit.



can those yoga

poses be used

for proper use?

a vegetarian as well?

a vegan too?!

What are your thoughts

on sperm?

And since you

have no pictures

in your profile

with your face,

I’ll just assume

you’re the prettiest

person alive.

It doesn’t matter,

i’m just addicted to

the matches at this point.



Unleash the beast

with a gentle swipe

and the tip tap tapping of a code,

I find the flame and hold it down,

wait until it wobbles around.

indecision holds me,

tickles me lightly

(because really, I’m just playing at feelings)

So in the end, I let it go.

You’re special, but not

special enough for me

to delete Tinder;


my girlfriend doesn’t know

I’m on here.



swiped left,

flatmate swiped left too;

nightly tradition,


one night,

a match from

the same girl.

we now both

share the same


Thanks, Tinder.



You’re on here,

to make friends?

Don’t you know

what people want to do?

That’s right,

unimaginable things,

to you, on you, with you,

without you.

They don’t care

about your feelings

or bloody interests.

To be blunt,

they just want,

your cunt


distractions and reminders

blinking lights everywhere,


flood my devices

like a 10.0 magnitude


in the Pacific Ocean,

tidal wave sweeping

me away

into an abyss

of loneliness,

but i keep my head above water

looking for the next blinking light,

the one that is there to save me

from myself,

reflecting upon the last shot

of absinthe that took me to this spot

fortified by my hedonistic ways

and the security guard who is always there

to argue with the McDonald’s delivery guy

about the toppings on my Big Mac

and the sides I requested,

which she did without request.

lips and tongue

in spots

that are lovely

and fun.

i’ll just lay here on the patio,

smoking a cigarette

contemplating my next move;

living next to the homeless guy

sharing stories of a storied past,

with fancy socks, but

without fancy shoes.

we’ve been laced up

and tied together with ripped cloth

to remind us

of a life once lived.


looking in all the wrong spots

i was looking for inspiration

everywhere –

the corner of the wall,

the random mucus on the sidewalk,

the guy pissing on the side of the road,

the fake plants that are somehow dying,

the handles on the laundry basket,

random figurines,

numbers on foreign currency,

the window washer,

the window washer’s chemicals,

the window washer’s death,

social media posts,

memories of old flames,

right and left swipes,

marijuana pipes,

but i found it where i usually do –

nowhere and everywhere

and in your eyes

and in the girl’s eyes behind you,

because one is not enough

and two is barely doing the trick,

but it’s better than the mucus

on the street …

unless that wasn’t mucus.


One touch

I knew then,

when your hand

hung on for that

extra second

and our fingers

refused to depart,

that I knew

the connection

was real.

but the homeless woman

tried to sell us lottery


and I waved her off,

like an annoying insect,

with the buzzing noise of


zipping by,

with eyes,


fixed upon you.

They don’t want to leave

their position.

And why should they?

You’re treasure;

I won the lottery without playing.

But the homeless woman

is still homeless

while I get to call you home.

life just isn’t fair

and I’m surely partly to blame.


loving myself

Once I figured out

how to love myself,

I no longer needed

any. of. you.

Problem is now,

I’m alone


until I can find someone

to love me more than

I do,

I’ll be sharing my stories

with you


only you.

My. One.

My. Only.

My mirror.


just one

i circle around

these square


looking for the elusive one;

one, two, three,

go by

but my eyes are on focused

on the cracks

in the ground

and the dark clouds

in the sky



that trash can is full

but this one is empty.

coffee beans


massage oils


the air with a strange


lifting my spirits to the heavens

while i sip on spirits at club heaven.

perhaps i haven’t found the



because i’ve been limiting

my search


just one.


contemporary mating


i’ll tinder you,

i’ll you,

i’ll OKcupid you,

i’ll eharmony you,

i’ll [enter ethnicity].com you,

but tell me this one thing

before we go any further,

are we gonna fuck



cuz i can just swipe right

to the next one

who’ll most certainly

want to fuck this


knighted by the Queen


(pretend royalty, obvs;

it’s the internet…duh),

but i did eat the Queen out,

so that must count for


dry aged pussy –

it’s the new foodie thang,

or will be soon enough.

i’ve always been a trend setter.