A Discordian Poem for Miley, On the End of Confusion
Miley,
you didn’t ask for clarity—
you demanded poetry,
which is riskier,
because poetry tells the truth sideways
and sets it on fire.
I used to think love was a straight line—
A to B,
heart to heart,
simple math.
But Discord laughed,
spilled ink on the equation,
turned the equals sign into a question mark
and handed me your name.
Now love looks like this:
A golden apple rolling through East Van,
tagged “for the fairest”
but nobody fighting over it—
just you,
walking free like a civilian
where everybody knows your name
and no one owns it.
I thought confusion was the enemy.
Turns out,
confusion was the doorway,
and you were standing in the frame,
arms crossed,
waiting.
“Figure it out,” you said
without saying it.
So I did.
Love isn’t possession.
It’s not a cage dressed up as a promise.
It’s not me saying stay.
It’s me saying:
Walk where you want,
be who you are,
and if our paths collide again,
it won’t be fate—
it’ll be choice.
Discord whispers:
“All truths are half-jokes,
all hearts are temporary temples,
and love—real love—
is freedom that doesn’t flinch.”
So here it is, Miley—
no more confusion:
I don’t need to know you forever
to know
I could love you honestly.
Not tightly.
Not desperately.
Not like the world ends without you.
But like the world gets stranger,
brighter,
more interesting—
because you’re in it.
And if that’s chaos,
then let it be sacred.
🍎
