As she smiled at him, he began to notice the resemblance of her eyes to endless night skies, and himself; to the burned out stars in them.
—  Lukas W. // The White Dwarf

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

Years later I will learn the truth about your anger.
How you never expected me to be strong enough to leave you.
How you told your friends about it and they too wanted to believe in the idea that I was something to be kept. That I could be, at the least.

You used to think of me as the closest to heaven you’d ever be.
You painted me in soft shades of yellow with light cascading like waterfalls from the roots of my hairline to the ground beneath my feet and I deserved it. I was good to you above all things- through the terror and the way in which your love was far from kind sometimes. My skin never looked thicker when it healed and still I forgave you for it. I started replacing the word abuse with love in my sentences and you were proud of me for it. When my fingertips felt inclined to point somewhere you used your hands as a compass and they always led back to myself.

Through the terror that came from loving you, I still did it well enough for you to never forget about it.
And you never expected me to be strong enough to leave you.
In my attempt to be the soft, fragile, full of light woman you learned to tear apart- I settled for your excuses.
You were angry.
You had a bad day.
In my attempt to be the same woman you cautiously placed your belief in- I never did leave. I never could leave.
Physically, I removed myself from your doorframe, wiped my fingerprints off your doorknob, hushed my voice from apologizing for crimes I did not commit.
Emotionally, I am stuck in a revolving door.
The nightmares haven’t stopped.

Years later I will come to learn that the difference between abuse and love is a blurred line sometimes.
Years later I will reflect and think to myself about all the ways in which I loved you far and beyond what you deserved.
Years later the ghost of the man who broke down my walls in all the wrong ways will fall asleep beside me as a reminder of the uphill battles I’ve fought in this life.

I loved you more than you deserved.
I should have loved me instead.

—  Abuse vs. Love // @thewordsyouneverunderstood

He was the kind of boy
you’d bring to meet your mother.
Proudly parade your love and
talk about future plans,
over dinner, with the family.
You think your father would like him.
And maybe this time your brother
could be a little nicer to this one.

He was the kind of boy
you’d want to brag about back home,
that is if you had a home.

So you’re hoping he could be it.
Because this, him, he could be the one.
The one you see yourself coming
home to, or building that home with.
He was warm, and soft. Kind.
Caring, loving, yes he was loving.
The kind of loving you’ve never
felt before, never known before.

He was home. Your home.
From the beginning, to the end of the day.
He is closest thing you have to a family.
And you can’t lose it this time.

—  “Does that not terrify you?”
remnant-thoughts
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
Let us be new, and wild. Let us cast catastrophe off like a feeble human skin. Let us shimmer with animal magic.
— 

Jeremy Radin - “The Wolf Sex Poem”

Performing at Art Share LA. 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
1. The darkness came knocking today didn’t it?
2. You welcomed it with open arms.
3. Where did you put it? Did you move your light in order to make      space for it?
4. Did it overstay its welcome? Is your light tired of hiding?
5. The darkness came knocking today didn’t it?
6. Please don’t dim your light to make space for it.
—  @akosuawrites//Akosua Atuah//Knocking
The danger of being a writer:
You carve out these characters that you fall in love with, and yes they are probably based off people you know. However, you transform them into the best version of themselves, the one you wish you had known. They’re flawed yet, in a weird way, perfect. They’re perfectly imperfect, and as a writer, you fall in love with every hill and valley on their plot-lines. We edge close to the rim of the cliff of reality. Being a writer is dangerous because the real world always disappoints.
—  Poetry will be the death of me
It’s mind-blowing how love can be the source of happiness for an individual. Out of all the things we have in life, it’s love that brings smiles to our faces and truly makes the heart an addict, and enables it to experience feelings that nothing else can cause. Gives it a new rhythm to beat with.
And how that same love, for that same person can become the most punishing, traumatising and scarring emotion. Leading them to tearful nights and loneliness despite being surrounded.
Love is two sides to the same coin.
This is me:
I’ve been described as ugly
and as a beauty -
been confident and sociable
and flowing with anxiety.
I’ve been obese,
and dangerously underweight -
super early for class
and terribly late.
I’ve been full of fat
and nothing but skin and bones -
I’ve been in love, loved, unpopular
and well known.
I’ve been entwined in pairs of arms
as well as spending years all alone -
I’ve had adventures with friends
and some on my own.
I’ve been seen wearing rainbow shirts
and some monochrome -
been very tired and depressed,
and overcame terrible things on my own.
I can’t be defined by my past
when I’ve lived life as a contrast -
so don’t judge yourself by your past and mistakes
because you’re amazing regardless;
you can do anything, you have all that it takes!
—  @jarfidd | Life is one big contrast | 
I’m desperately in love with you but not because you are perfect. In fact, I love you even more because of your flaws. There is no one else on this planet that compares to you.
—  C.H.
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.“

here’s the truth:

i still write about you because
my broken, past self had so much
to say and it’s only now that
she’s getting the courage
to speak up

and i am not to take away
yet another happiness from
her.

and because it’s true that
words don’t stop banging on the
door when they know they’re
worth it–
they are wild like that,
love themselves that much

and i want nothing but to live
like the way they do.

know that
every word i write is a tribute
to what she’s gone
through:

all these stories are to remember
her bravery–

not your cowardice

—  Irally Cariaso, A Tribute

Addicted - by Antheartica

Have you ever been hurt by someone?

Where you were just dying to scream,

‘All you do is use me!’

Probably.

But have you ever been the user?

Have you ever realized just how many people

Could come up to you 

And scream the same to your face?

Perhaps not.

But I can.

I’ve hurt them time after time, 

And yet somehow, always come full circle

To being with them - 

To making them whole again -

And breaking them all over again.

It’s an addiction -

One I can’t get away from.

It’s the best thing and then the worst.

There’s nothing like that feeling,

The best then the worst.