He asked me why I hate him.
Truth is, I don’t hate him. I never have.
But I’d rather have him think that I hate him than tell him the truth.
Because you see, I’m trying to move on. I’m trying to leave everything behind. And I’ve forgiven him, I really have. 
But talking to him reminds me of everything that I’m trying to let go of.
Our memories. Our conversations. Our bond.
And talking to him now is nothing like before.
There is no bond. There is no relationship. There is no interest.
We’re just two people, who are so used to each other, that they just can’t seem to let go.
So, I don’t hate him. It’s the complete opposite actually.
I love him. so much.
All I want for him is to be happy. Genuinely happy.
and I know that letting him go will accomplish that for him.
—  Drunk Conversations

Part of being a good person is finding the strength and kindness to walk away even when you are holding a tinder box that could blaze through an evil person’s entire world.

You see, good people recognise that evil, hatred and cowardice are cut from the same cloth and they must never bring themselves down to the level of those who bring that kind of destruction into their lives. Even when they have the power to destroy someone awful, good people always choose to walk away.


Because thats the difference between good people and evil people. It takes more courage to walk away, than to set something already exceptionally flammable on fire, just because you like to watch things burn.

—  Nikita Gill, The Difference Between Good People and Evil People

em đừng nhớ những lời hứa tuổi xanh
một sớm mong manh là bay đi mất
em đừng đau thứ hẹn thề độc nhất
tim người chật kí ức cũng tua nhanh

em đừng nghĩ sẽ sống lại mùa hanh
chân khô lạnh sẽ có người níu lấy
miệng nhạt lời trôi mình em đứt gãy
sao người không nhớ không thấy không đau?

- Thơ Zelda.

Kindness must always be more important than beauty for our society to become better and stronger. Replace the pedestal beauty is kept on with kindness instead. All the ideals and high standards we hold for beauty should be transferred and modified for kindness, teaching every child, every human being to aspire to be kind first, before they even think about their looks. And watch how the world will sparkle at the rise of such a wonderful revolution. Watch how society heals because of this single incredible quality being instilled in every human being.
—  Nikita Gill
I saw how brown boys grow into themselves, angry at the world.
— 

FROM THE VAULT: Aja Monet - “The First Time” (CUPSI 2015)

Performing as the feature on finals stage at the 2015 College Unions Poetry Slam Invitational. Subscribe to Button on YouTube!

Want to be on Button? Submit your poems to our chapbook contest! Winner receives publication, $500, fifty free author copies, and an invitation to perform at a Button Poetry event and be filmed by Button. Not sure about a full chapbook? We’ve launched our first-ever video contest as well! You even can (and should!) submit to both! Check out all the details here.“

you think being with a ghost is scary,
but wait until

you fall in love with one.

wait until
you get addicted with the way
he makes life creep into you more
than anything has ever
done before.

wait until
you hold his hands,
wait until you realize that this
ghost isn’t cold at all; if anything,
he is made up of sunlight
and warm things and joyful heat
and that he’s exactly what you
need.

wait until
you’re thankful for his heartbeat.
with your palms pressed on his
chest, your ear close to
his breath, your
heart one with his.

wait until
he makes you believe,
not wish.

wait until
he’s all you could think about,
wait until you’re willing to
follow him anywhere.

and
wait until
he doesn’t scare you anymore–
when it’s losing him that
frightens you now.

—  Irally Cariaso, Ghost // Wait Until You Fall In Love With One

I look around.
I see mouths moving.
But my gaze is pulled,
Right back to you.

I can’t help but watch you.
Watch the way your dimple,
Becomes more prominent when you laugh.
Or the way your eyes twinkle,
When you smile.

I try to engrave,
Every single detail,
Of you into my mind.
Because I don’t ever,
Want to forget.

heteromantic asexual..... hate?

I sneezed in a walmart
and no one said bless you
I bought a fucking rainbow packpack
to support you

And now you tell me I’m not queer?
No sir, no sir, not right here!

I am sick of this hate!
I am sick of these lies
Maybe aphobes should just
suck on some fries

That’s all I have to say today
Except for, “aphobes, stay away!”

I wonder when will I write something about “us”
something full of smiles and shouting colors
because I have been writing about “you” and “me”
two things that are completely different,
made me stroke down frowns and vagueness,
but hell if you and me collide,
we could be something full of love,
we could be something full of poetry.
—  // 7-28-’16, 10:11pm
One day, one rhyme- Day 939

I packed my dreams away and sent
Them ‘cross the bridge of night
That in the day they’d keep away
And safely out of sight,
Because the daylight can be cruel
And dreams are fragile things.
The Nightbridge shields from the harsh rays
That burn their tiny wings,
And when the sharp sun fades away
I call them back again
And in the kind glow of the moon
‘Til morning we will reign.

This is a poem about your eyes. 


It’s called “Stars Falling in the Night Sky.”

Because every time I look into your eyes and say the words ‘I love you,’ tears starts gushing from your eyes.

And I am left speechless because I’ve never seen such beauty in someone else’s tears.

As your tears resembles shooting stars.

And I am forced to make countless wishes from your countless tears just because shooting stars exist to grant wishes to the few who see them exist.

And I wish for our forever.


This is a poem about your hair.


It’s called “The Amazon Rainforest.”

Because every time I pull your hair whenever we make love—it feels like I’ve discovered more of us inside the undiscovered places of our love.


This is a poem about your smile.


It’s called “Winter.”

Because every time you smile at me before 7 am in the morning—I feel chills along with those butterflies inside my stomach.


This is a poem about beauty.


It’s called You.

—  Poems to Vaishali by Juansen Dizon 

There is an ocean inside me.
Waves crashing in my stomach.
Seasick.

Salt water tears fall.
I’m not scared, really,
just drowning

Pirates search for gold,
Dig up buried treasure. Oh,
Please don’t take it.

A shipwreck in my soul.
Throw everything overboard.
I’m sinking so fast.

—  Save Our Ship, and Other Cries for Help // d.h.