I want you to love me more than you love good literature. More than you love graffiti and sex and home-cooked meals. I want you to love me more than you love the way the grass smells after it’s been cut, the way the world spins around you as you roll down a hill, the way you feel after a full night’s sleep. I want you to love me more than you love all of your favourite things. Because I love you so much. You are all of my favourite things wrapped up into one person.

Your Favourite Things (K.P.K)

I dreamt a dream

where death tasted

like a fresh cut lemon

and the air was thick

like water, eight feet below
and a young girl pirouetted
along the edge of a dull scythe
used to behead purple harvest corn
but how was I to know
everything bled out into grayscale
dripping away in a haze I could swim
when a rainbow trout the size
of a Cadillac swallowed me whole
then spit me out
—  interpret that | ra bishop
I am trying ever so hard to find beauty in the world now that you are no longer a part of it. I am trying to fight the monster that pushes on my chest each morning and says, “I think you need just a little more rest,” because these days it hurts just to get out of bed. These days its like my bones are made out of lead. I know that if you were here you’d say, “Baby, don’t forget to breathe,” but I’ve been having problems breathing ever since your heart stopped beating, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.
—  lead by ahn

A midnight scribble,

        a morning sigh,

       you watch the words,

       curl up and die

Madness lives

       inside your head,

       of poems lost,

       and pages dead.

A mind possessed,

       by unmade books,

       unwritten lines

       on empty hooks.

- Michael Faudet

I depend too much on coffee
To make me function
Just like how much
I depend on you
To make me happy,
And when the hours go by
Without consuming you
I slowly fall into exhaustion
Without a care in the world.
And I do not know if
You’re the healthiest choice
For me to rely on
In cold days, and
Sleepless nights.
If you suddenly disappear,
I don’t know what to depend on
To keep me sane
And this fact terrifies me.

"I Depend On You" by A.G


One day Tim woke up 
alone and cold
and as the window 
blew in
new wind
Tim began to know
this old drafty apartment
has got to go

So Tim got a better job
and went out at night 
seeking a mate 
I gotta say 
Tim did alright 

Tim met a woman 
and then a wife
Tim bought a house
and had a really 
nice life 

And then it was time
for Tim to go 
there’s a baby on 
the way 
don’t ya know…

And baby turned 
to son 
and son
turned to sun 
Tim grew up 
and stopped
having fun

Wake up 
(feeling all alone)

And then Tim’s wife
one night 
had a request
"why don’t you 
take the couch 
and I’ll take
the bed,
I think
that’s best.”

Tim said “okay” 
cause it really 
didn’t matter

She loved 
the neighbor more
found them shopping 
when Tim was buying
for the job he hates
at the corner 

So on the couch
Tim sits then lays
counting sheep 
for better days

Tim woke up 
alone and cold
and as the window 
blew in
new wind
Tim began to know
this old drafty apartment house
has got to go.

— Vintage 

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Even if you love the racket of ascension,
you must know how the power leaves you.
And at this pitch who has time for meditation?
the sea walled in by buildings. I do miss
the quiet, don’t you? When I said, “Fuck the deer
antlered and hithered in fur,” it was because
I had seen the faces of presidents balled into a fist.
If I were in charge, I would know how to fix
the world: free health care or free physicals,
at least, and an abiding love for the abstract.
When I said, “All of history is saved for us,”
it was because I scorned the emancipated sky.
Does the anthem choke you up? When I asked
God if anyone born to slaves would die
a slave, He said: “Sure as a rock descending
a hillside.” That’s why I’m not a Christian.
—  Terrance Hayes, Mystic Bounce
I search, I search for a present, tomorrow and maybe even a day after, but its meaningless or so I feel. A place out of hands and sight, a place so far its out of sight.
I dont need them…
Because I regret what was the goodbye I said to you
I was just playing around, making a fool out of all of you
Im a fool, simple and gullible. Not depressed.
Just simply a fool, simple and gullible.
Truly. There’s no other meaning to it.
Alive and Blazing

Is not our only beginning. 
For we are reborn
Times a many,
In the spaces we lived.
With seasonal changes,
Like a phoenix
We rise,
From the golden red 
Fallen leaves of autumn fire.
Our tears of experience,
With its mythical powers
Of healing wounds,
Crying, a sign
That we are
Alive and blazing.



When I was about nine years old,
I wanted to be a boy.

In my mind, boys had everything.
Boys had it easy. Boys had it made.

I didn’t get along very well with
other girls because I would
rather be covered in mud than
in makeup. I would rather
skin knees than stab backs.
Boys ran their mouths and
ran the school while my
patience ran a little bit thin.
But that’s not what girls did.
Girls kept pretty and girls
kept quiet and girls kept
themselves together.

When I was about nine years old,
I realized the biggest difference
between boys and girls to me
was that boys never seemed
to think before they spoke
and I would watch girls
swallow their words like
they were pills made
for horses.

But to boys, there was more
than just that. There was
something in them that
told them girls were weak,
when all I could see was the
strength seeping out of their
pores as they bit the strongest
muscle in their body until it bled.
There was something in
them that told them
girls were worse, when
all I could see was every girl
in a race to better themselves
before the ideal image
of a perfect girl changed
once again.

Even at nine years old,
there was nothing better to me,
than girls.

But I wanted to be a boy, I think,
only because I wanted, just once,
to be picked first to play ball,
to show them I could run just as fast,
kick just as hard,
win just as fiercely.

I wanted to prove myself,
as a girl, that I could be everything
a boy was,
and then some.

When I was about nine years old,
as I hurriedly tried to tie up
my shoes to race others
to the field,
I heard the phrase:
“You can’t play for our team,
you’re a girl.”

I remember thinking,
“But why does that make a difference?”
Until I turned fifteen years old.

When I was about fifteen years old,
I realized that I did not want to
be a boy any more.
I wanted the freedom and
the power and the worth
every boy I grew up with
felt he had.

I wanted to be an equal.

When I was about fifteen years old,
and heard,
“You can’t play for our team”
as I laced up my heartstrings
like a pair of battered cleats,

I learned to say, with a huge smile,
and a nod, remembering
girls and their strength
and their beauty and their poise
and their ability to keep everything
in and everybody out and
hold together a family or bring
down an army,
“It’s okay. I play for the other team



A 79 year old man will go to bed tonight alone, despite his 55 years of marriage.
That’s loss.
That’s not waking up in the middle of the night and wishing your ex-girlfriend could be in your arms one more time,
that’s waking up in the middle of the night and knowing that the body that was next to yours for more than three-quarters of your life is 6 feet underground, and will never be in your arms again.

The last time he blew out the candles on his cake without her “happy birthday” song to cheer him on was before his twenties.
But today, her voice wasn’t there to fill the silence, and all he was left with was smoke and a wish that can never come true.

Death is inevitable, this much I know.
Yet it doesn’t seem fair that a marriage on the verge of hitting it’s next decade ends with a grieving man regretfully patting his wife’s casket, as he walks by for one last look.
One last memory.

It’s sad, really, because the greatest love a person can have ultimately validates “til death do us part,” and one is left without the other, feeling like the best parts of himself died the same moment she did.

However, this lifelong love was not in vain.
Though he comes home to an empty house, and sets the table for one, at the end of the day when he sits in his recliner and watches television by himself in the midst of his heartache, he somehow feels lucky.
He was able to love her.
The memories of their romance play like a movie reel in his mind, and he smiles through his tears.
He wasn’t ready for her to go, but he knows he’s the luckiest man on Earth, because she was his.

He has no regrets.
From the first day he saw her, he knew he needed to love her, and that’s what he’s done every day since.
Not to say it’s been easy, but to say it’s been worth it.
He fought through doubts, he faced his fears, he battled through pain, because she was worth any obstacle he found himself up against.
He can look back on his life with her and know he was the happiest he could possibly be, with the woman who was the center of his universe,
and you’re a 21 year old boy, too scared to give yourself that same chance.

But him?
He was never with another woman, praying it was her instead; he never settled for less.
He prospered in love, and for that, their lives were not wasted.

If you look back on the past 6 months and ache from the times you said “I love you” to the wrong person, imagine how you’ll feel when you, too, are a 79 year old man, having shared your life with a woman you always knew was second best, because you were too afraid to let yourself have it all, in fear it may be lost.
If there’s one thing this man would tell you, it would be this:
To love another with your entire heart is a privilege, and it should be embraced.
Do not run from what is real, because someday you’ll want to do nothing but run back to it.

So choose wisely, not safely.
Choose to be the man in the recliner who reflects on his fortune of having her by his side for as long as he did, simply wishing for more time,
as opposed to being the coward who regrets his days spent without her, wishing instead to go back in time.