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#button poetry
poemsonmars · 3 months
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you told me that daisies
are your favorite flower
and i had to fight the urge
to plant a bouquet
of them in my lungs.
i want to cough up
petals and stems
when you smile at me.
i want to be so full of
your favorite things
that i forget how to breathe.
-mars
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haleyincarnate · 8 months
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From “I NEVER WANTED TO BELIEVE IN GHOSTS”, “Dead Dad Jokes” by Ollie Schminkey
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litbowl · 10 months
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Congratulations Sierra on the release of Ephemera, out today with Button Poetry! Get a copy here.
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wastedpoets · 9 months
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Why create something just to deny it love // Surviving Girlhood (and wishing you hadn’t) By Skyler Scott - Available on Amazon
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cgcpoems · 11 months
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I'm not exactly sure which wound is the one I belong to.
Hanif Abdurraqib, The Crown Ain't Worth Much
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buttonpoetry · 3 months
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youtube
Rudy Francisco - I once held onto a grudge
Post your favorite quote!
Get Rudy's book here: https://bit.ly/rudyfranciscoshop Rudy Francisco, performing at Queen Bee's Art and Cultural Center in San Diego, CA.
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poemsforthesehours · 7 months
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From Brenna Twohy's book, Swallowtail. (Button Poetry, 2019). Get the book here.
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circadeacademia · 9 days
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And the best part is : nobody does you, quite like you.
— circadeacademia
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heartless-homo · 2 years
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againstme · 3 months
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Neil Hilborn - The Future
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jankywhale · 8 months
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The summer breaks away into small things. Every story you know the ending to. Every chance you get, you will learn to say no. This isn’t what I wanted. I hate the summer and I hate the heat it brings. I have been longing for cold weather. I have been longing since the summer started. Is there the part where we come back? Is there a story that is just that, a story? Surely there isn’t a meaning behind every door. Every closed window. Every time it rains, I swear I can feel it, the part that is leaving. I just want to let go. I am so tired, did you know that? I don’t know if I have anything left to say. It was just summer, then fall, and into winter I will ice over. The leaves, too, will come with me.
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poemsonmars · 8 months
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it's hard to write
when every poem starts to
feel like a suicide letter.
most days i am an
echo chamber of apologies.
i start to wonder if
there is anything else
left in me anymore.
i go to bed empty.
most nights i am
something much worse.
-mars
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haleyincarnate · 9 months
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there is something about silence that only the woods understand.
Excerpt from “The Quarry, Sandstone, MN”, Dead Dad Jokes by Ollie Schminkey
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litbowl · 7 months
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From Steven Willis's book, A Peculiar People (Button Poetry, 2022). Get your copy here.
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I have experienced highs and lows you can never imagine (masturbated then cried to slam poetry immediately after)
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millenialqueer · 3 months
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God
I don’t know what I believe anymore
Church left me with a thorn in my side
Religion left me with an ache in my chest
God left me
Who is God anyway?
But the compilation of power hungry men
Systems in place whose aim is control
Who is God?
But the reflection of your parents
Repeating the call and response idly
Who is God?
But the arms of a familiar lover
Their body, your communion
Who is God?
But the first sip of coffee in the morning
A sacrifice to your body for rising from the bed
Who is God?
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