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
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…
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…
strawberries and strawberry-flavored things
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
floral art and patterns
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…
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!
take a look at this place —
fascist fucking paradise,
killers in blue.
i’m here to blow shit up, man.
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…
men can be soft
men can cry
men can like the color pink
men don’t have to be tough
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
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…