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 Aug 2020
You expected a girl,
your own notion of femininity.
You expected me to laugh, to talk,
but only in bubbles,
Wonka’s fizzy lifting drink.
You expected to float
on my wiles
I’d heft you up while you cruise.
Well, you get nothing.
You lose.
Good day, sir.
 Aug 2020
i bought a pocket knife
to help me cut this life vest
full of trust issues
right the *******

...i don’t want to swim
in an ocean of you
if there’s no potential
of drowning
to my girlfriend, lili—

the most lovely human
i’ve ever had the pleasure
of calling mine
 Aug 2020
Robert Andrews
You're finer than an artists brushstroke
No master could improve
If I were to paint such perfect lines
I would be painting You.
 Jul 2020
Ashlyn Rimsky
My body is a temple
But the men don't pray.
 Jul 2020
We write like we matter
and we know what we know
But what we do not know
is that we do not matter

For if we matter
we will know what matters
and knowing what matters
we will see what matters

Which is that we know nothing
but what we think we know

Which is that we do not know

And that is hard to take
and even harder to know

So we just fake it
to make it

For when you do not matter
what matters what you know!
 Jul 2020
i was confused though because
he knocked on the door
instead of climbing through the window.
and i knew in an instant
he was there to save me,
but something told me
it wasn’t in the romantic way
they said he would.

seeing the confusion on my face,
he said, i know you were expecting
prince charming,
but i already have a queen at home.
and i know you’re disappointed
cause i’m fine as hell,
but will you settle for a best friend?
cause you’re like... super dope.
sick dress btw. ****.

oh—and can i sleep on your couch?
it’s just—you’ve got this whole tower
and my horse is being kind of a ****
so i’m trying to give him space

i looked at him dumbfounded—
taken by his confidence
and his ****** hair

realizing he had forgotten his manners,
his outstretched hand
reaching toward mine
oh sorry, my name’s ryan.
kind of obsessed
with the guy
that i call best friend
 Jun 2020
Carlo C Gomez
Look closer...
the winding trail
is baked to perfection,
bearing the scars
of a caesarean section.

Only the snakes
dare travel along I-8,
one-by-one the seasons lie prone,
in heat this sun will castrate.

The burnt aspects on faces
don’t smile or frown,
they peer out as residue
to places perished in the wake of
a cityscape’s head trauma,
calling out to the heaven’s above
as they await her to rise
with wings from these ashes,
in anticipation for a day ne’er to draw nigh,
even the steady fall of acid rain
will fail to wash away such genocide.

A favorite haunt transmutes
into a ghost town,
burning into the ground
the heat seeps into the soul,
and the procession begins again
for whom the bell tolls.

Towers of steel melt
as popsicles on the pavement,
the sun’s punishment
is constantly transcendent,
the noise of sparks and hums
rattle the spine,
today’s forecast is a good chance
of saturnine.

Eerie colors at dawn
make for a spectral scenic view,
picnic lunch in the park
is categorically taboo,
the hunters of men
swoon in subjugation to this tyranny,
weather’s wrath was everyone’s destiny.

Live a little, die a little,
pretend it cannot happen,
but in the end we all windup
as peanut brittle...
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