I didn't write these, but they're wonderful.

Just for your reading pleasure. I didn't write these, but they're great. I highlighted the best parts. Happy Thursday, lovlies.

“Hipster Poem” by Russell Wilson


Beautiful boys and girls sip water out of mason jars

Cuffed flannel exposes the ease of dark haired wrists and brown knuckles

Sitting on a picnic table

Laughing like they’re gonna be this perfect forever

Perfect being this relative thing ‘cause they haven’t washed

Their hair in like two weeks

But they’ve got hope strung up like fairy lights in the bedrooms

Of that person they loved first

They fall into each other

And I’m jealous of these bodies next to bodies

Because the moon is falling in love with them

At the exact moment that they’re falling in love with each other

A pale mouthed boy with freckles and a chapped nose

Is humming Amazing Grace

Their feet start praying loud

But then amazing grace turns into a back pocket harmonica solo

And I’m thinking it won’t take long before they drown

In the happiness of it all

I can see them choking on it already

But that just makes them want to love harder

Because they’re not stupid and they know that it can slip

Through their fingers so quick

And because they’re kinda stupid, they think that wishing

On a picnic table will make it stay

Funny shaped knees poking through faded cords

They they wore so carefully threadbare

Fabric so thin you can see their souls

The indecency of showing what matters most, like it was nothing

But it makes them so wickedly cool

That, and the fact that at least one of them can play the ukulele

And I’m blushing like it’s the first time, thinking they must know everything

But then they start talking about the world like it’s a joke with no punch line

Until one of the girls with feathers in her hair starts crying

She does it like poetry till they all wish they’d never been born

And somehow in the carelessness of tragedy

The harmonica got kicked into the dirt

So I start humming Amazing Grace

And they’re looking around like maybe it’s coming from the flowers

Because why wouldn’t the flowers start singing

When the moon’s out loving you so good.

by Gregory Sherl

You fit the world in your mouth and I’m jealous of all the cobweb space. I scour the neighborhood picking up your lost hairpins, smell last night in your hair. It’s a good thing, you never forgetting my waist. Maybe I’m in love or maybe I’m not in love or maybe I’ve tasted love before and haven’t brushed my teeth in a while, but you look so good in that dress I want to bake you a pie. In one of these sentences I say something important. This is what I’m going to do: touch your hips with my tongue, build you a nest out of pillowcases. We are always falling into the softness of photosynthesis. The most important part of last night is making it happen again. I was never good at math but I’m adding up the miles to your hips. Come over, I want to sober up inside you.

We've made it to the single digits.
All my love, 
Addy