Kristen Stewart Is A Poet Now And Wrote Some Beautiful Words About Wiffle Ball

Watch out, Shia LaBeouf, there’s a new unappreciated artistic genius in Hollywood, and she might as well be wearing a bag on her head, because she never changes her blank expression anyway. That artist is, of course, Kristen Stewart, the star of such blockbusters as Twilight and the other Twilight films, as well as a bunch of other movies that you probably don’t remember her in. But K-Stew is setting out to prove that she’s more than just a boring actress who ruined her relationship with Edward, I mean Robert Pattinson, by diddling the director of Snow White and the Huntsman.

In her new cover feature interview with Marie Claire, Stewart reveals that she’s a poet and we didn’t know it, but she totally doesn’t want you to read her stupid innermost thoughts, you guys. *bashful blush, bats eyelashes, kind of smiles but doesn’t, bites lip, looks down*

She shared it with Marie Claire for the magazine’s cover profile of the actress, with the outlet noting that Stewart “often writes intense little verses, words or strings of words, rearranging them in a process she herself doesn’t understand but believes is somehow essential to her sanity.”

Before reciting her work, Stewart was quoted as saying, “Oh, my God, it’s so embarrassing. I can’t believe I’m doing this.” (Via Gossip Cop)

OMGGGGGGGGGGGG, I cannot believe that I’m allowing you to publish my poem but OKAY HERE IT IS, MAKE SURE YOU DON’T GET THE ELYPSES WRONG.

My Heart Is A Wiffle Ball/Freedom Pole

I reared digital moonlight
You read its clock, scrawled neon across that black
Kismetly… ubiquitously crest fallen
Thrown down to strafe your foothills
… I’ll suck the bones pretty.
Your nature perforated the abrasive organ pumps
Spray painted everything known to man,
Stream rushed through and all out into
Something Whilst the crackling stare down sun snuck
Through our windows boarded up
He hit your flint face and it sparked.
And I bellowed and you parked
We reached Marfa.
One honest day up on this freedom pole
Devils not done digging
He’s speaking in tongues all along the pan handle
And this pining erosion is getting dust in
My eyes
And I’m drunk on your morsels
And so I look down the line
Your every twitch hand drum salute
Salutes mine…

The fuck does that have to do with wiffle ball? I can’t believe I read poetry based on a lie.

(Banner via Getty)