It doesn’t interest me… what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me… how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me… what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know… if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know… if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me.. if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know… if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know… if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, Yes.

It doesn’t interest me… to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done…

It doesn’t interest me… who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me..where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know… if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

—  Oriah, “The Invitation
Watch on buttonpoetry.tumblr.com

Jared Singer - “Love”

"Love can only be described the way it is lived; in parts."

Performing during the Coaches’ Slam at the 2014 College Unions Poetry Slam Invitational. Subscribe to Button on YouTube!

loneliness is the house I wanted to live in
before I met you.
a place where nothing ever happens,
and I’m safe because of it.
you changed the ending.
took the wings off my airplane heart
and didn’t let it fly out of your greedy hands.
now you say you’re leaving
and miles away Rome falls.
its buildings crash to their knees after rising to meet you
for so long.

an origami sailboat
reminds you how sorry the
rivers are for falling in love
with temporary things.
now you say you’re leaving,
and miles away engines break
apart in the sky.
you look at me and say
‘here.
here is a kingdom of promises I meant to give you.
i’m sorry their crowns keep falling off,
but it’s the best I could do.’

now you say you’re leaving
and miles away
icarus flies too close to the sun.
he knows exactly what he’s doing.
he always meant to leave through the
light.

—  Y.Z, legend has it

I bite my lip and
tell it to you straight.

This isn’t easy.
Easy is them
thirsting over my thighs
but never bothering to ask
my last name.
Easy is them caring how I moan
but now what I think about when I’m alone.

This is terrifying.
My hands are practicing shapes
to hold you in.
My heart is a hammer pounding out
different beats of your name.
My lips
have not stopped quivering
since I thought of you
and that was two weeks ago.

Shaky feet
eyes fixed straight ahead
tightrope strung between
two city buildings

terrifying.

—  Careful Not Careless, Lora Mathis
fishes swim in air. swallow clouds shaped like the atlantic. fishes circle her head. mimic stars after collision. fishes grow mouths so hungry. they devour her whole. fishes die. the skies become silent. the sky cannot fall. for it is floating further up. a balloon whose helium never runs out.
—  MJLthis is what it feels like to fall in love with a man who loves another (request)
Pollyannaism:

When you eventually left, I couldn’t remember the sound of your footsteps walking away. My best friend asked me why I thought you were any different than the others when you broke my heart too, but my memories of you are filled with the sound of your laughter and the creaking of wooden floors when we snuck into the kitchen to raid the fridge. I may remember that dreadful afternoon but all I think about is the day we met and our conversations about Game of Thrones and which dessert to eat for breakfast. My mind constantly holds onto the memories of your hand in mine and the kisses you stole when I was being too sassy for my old good. I have the tendency to fall in love with the memory of you, over and over again, even if you have already fallen out of love with me.
— 

Excerpt from A Story A Day #270 // Day 185 by Ming D. Liu

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