Photo by Mohammad Faruque

Poetry

the homeless person is not your enemy

the drug addict is not your enemy

the disabled person is not your enemy

the transgender person is not your enemy

the BLM ‘rioter’ is not your enemy

the person on welfare is not your enemy

the socialist is not your enemy

the person getting an abortion is not your enemy

the felon on a weed charge is not your enemy

the striking worker is not your enemy

the Black teen walking home at night is not your enemy

the anarchist is not your enemy

the communist is not your enemy

the non-binary…


A person sits on a bed while holding a coffee cup that reads “dear life, it’s beautiful here.”
Photo by allison christine on Unsplash

Hey, love.

Listen. Sometimes depression is just a thing you have. Sometimes it ain’t going anywhere.

You can do all the work and troubleshooting, putting in effort and doing what you should with nutrition, exercise, sleep habits, gratitude, mindfulness, therapy, medication, and so on, and still… you know, have depression. Still have a depressive day, week, year, life.

It can be exhausting perpetually viewing yourself as standing on this hamster wheel where it seems like if you’d only run fast enough, you’d reach, what, normalcy? Basic functionality? See, the “basic” stuff other people seem to do easily — things like…


Me, as a toddler, riding a tricycle in my backyard.
Photo courtesy of author.

Hey, kiddo.

Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t write sooner. Things came up, life happened, between school and work and relationship stuff, time just got away and… ah, screw it. I’m not going to make excuses.

I ignored you for a long time, and I’m sorry.

I’m here now. I know that sounds ridiculous, and I know you have issues trusting people — especially me. But I hope this can be a start.

Let me reintroduce myself. I’m not the future you. I’m the foundation for the future us. It’s my job and my joy to help you become the best…


Poetry

strawberries and strawberry-flavored things

cuddling

therapy, embracing vulnerability

reading and writing poetry

cute things, including pets or art w/ cute aesthetics, and the wiggle emoji my discord friends see me use a lot

talking about feelings, insecurities, hopes, fears

kindness

floral art and patterns

boundaries

intersectional feminism

rest

not trying to seem cool

delicate, colorful phrases like ‘lank and cadaverous beauty’

hugging and other forms of touch that are affectionate without necessarily being sexual

sex that celebrates connection rather than imitating it or attempting to replace it

well-written fictional romances

real life romances

telling my friends, including my guy friends…


Photo by Aziz Acharki on Unsplash

Poetry

my rhetoric is artillery.
my writing style is arson.
my god —
with my words,
i could kill somebody’s god.
size up the greedy machine,
the doom and the hate.
the pen hits the page — BOOM!
it detonates.
take a look at this place —
fascist fucking paradise,
killers in blue.
i’m here to blow shit up, man.
ain’t you?


Photo by Daniel Jensen on Unsplash

Poetry

every poem about death

was written by the dead.

they etch their impact on the people left behind;

the people called poets are the ghost

-writers, lingering and lurching

and searching for meaning

and the place they find it

is in their hearts, a place

where the dearly departed had already

had penned it in secret.

poetry’s just a matter of unearthing this truth

that was already there. the beauty that was

already there, revealed to us by vacuum and loss.

y’ever notice what happens after

an atom bomb explodes?

the sudden shockwave, brilliant and violent

creates a vacuum in…


Photo by Seth Doyle on Unsplash

Poetry

men can be soft

and vulnerable

and small

and kind

men can cry

and rest

and play

and dance

men can like the color pink

and strawberries

and sweets

and romance

men don’t have to be tough

or violent

or stoic

or boring

men don’t have to be

statements of patriarchy

if you ask me

there’s a whole lot of cool things

that men can be

for starters, i think

men can be free


Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

Poetry

i walked through a clearing

and found an ancestor there

he raised an eyebrow at me

then went back to his meal

he was eating fruits and nuts

and his plan for the day was to vibe

i had a small cardboard container

filled with deep fried dead birds

i got for cheap from a multinational corporation

my plan for the day was ‘survive’

a cloud came overhead

it built into a gray tower and rumbled

and he said, ‘the goddess is ready to cry’

i sat back and smirked,

then explained something called

cloud condensation nuclei

he furrowed his…


Poetry

Photo by Derek Thomson on Unsplash

so
it turns out
god isn’t real
and anarchy is beautiful.

say,
can you do a handstand?
you’ll look funny
and your blood will rush,

but
if you look at the planet
upside down
— like you’re carrying it —

it starts to make sense.


Photo by Kinga Cichewicz on Unsplash

Poetry

anxiety feels like
having trust issues
between yourself
and the entire universe

Michael Guevarra

i write love letters from the void. editor of The Anticapital, bylines @ LEVEL | P.S. I Love You | The Writing Cooperative

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