Photo by Mohammad Faruque


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


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

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…


they said the general is dead

We said good.

they said how dare we speak that way of a man of great deeds, a man with accolades and prestige, sworn loyal to the nation’s creed

We shrugged.

they called him politician, diplomat, statesman. their voice shrieked from the screens: we are the news! who are you?

We called him war criminal, liar, murderer, tool.

Our voice blossomed from the soil: we are the culture, we are the truth. And we are not your fools.


i started writing a poem about the brutality of loneliness.

i scribbled something like,

“how is it a heart can detonate in complete silence,”

but couldn’t find what else to say.

then i saw the ‘publish’ button in the corner of my eye,

and pushed it anyway.


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


intersectional feminism


not trying…

Photo by Aziz Acharki on Unsplash


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


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…

Photo by Seth Doyle on Unsplash


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


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


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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