who may write softly,
while onward we bludgeon?
today, the government issued a warning to all would-be poets and writers. here are its contents in their entirety.
may all writers heed these words, as they make the difference between being read and the most terrible fate of all:
oblivion.
write about flowers,
write about the moon,
write about love, just not the useful kind,
write about trees,
write about rivers,
write about the sea,
write stunning tragedy of the fictional variety,
write about your senses, not just what you can see,
write about all the beautiful things, but
please
don't dare question how you can enjoy them.
even while you watch bodies burn and turn to pulp, protestors shot in the street — wounded, blinded, killed — or internment camps and cop cities rising from the malnourished and underfunded belly of our most vulnerable streets.
you may see smoke looming in the distance, growing near, but
look over here!
a tulip blooms!
spring is ever nearer!
About the Creator
kp
I am a non-binary, trans-masc writer. I work to dismantle internalized structures of oppression, such as the gender binary, class, and race. My writing is personal but anecdotally points to a larger political picture of systemic injustice.
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A Little Bit Of God
January 2026 I thought I’d spend the night in neon lights on grainy film but my brother is telling me how an eternity of hell is caused by prevalent peace, and who am I to disrupt such a thing? So I found myself in the same skin with the same sights, wondering whether or not I am one of those– do I feel peace? Do I expect more when it is gone? It being everything. We’re running out of time but the car is belching up something strange and we’ve got God in between our eyes nodding along to every apology and plea spoken for our friends and loved ones– they don’t know any better, they’ll come around eventually. He’s telling me about barbed wire guides around lives and ties and wives and lies and, look, the snow is starting to fall so I guess we better hang up soon. But it’s been too long. We’re building fields of skills and realms of distrust and these moments are only seen now, can no longer be read as words, only swept with eyes upon oil pastels or smudged charcoal. It’s a painting of an evening, like Daniel’s soles in Edgar Degas’ mind, but if anything is just it’s the lack of unrest in skin like His and lives like this– okay, so maybe five hours on the phone is a lot if you have a job and you’re trying to cook dinner, but only one of us falls into that gorge and only one of us believes in what lies beneath it. My brother tells me things that sit in my spirit like half an ounce of prospect and a squeeze of bourn, how he tells God to let me in: despite my sins, despite all the moons in between these calls, despite the burning in both of our throats. I do feel peace here. I also feel that my peace is a subpar window job, a pinky’s strength avoiding blizzards inside the bedsheets. I’d like to spend more nights like this, with contrasting disaster living between a speakerphone, and God finding some space in between.
By Olivia Dodge6 days ago in Poets
Affection and Healing for Yourself
During the night of the last quarter moon, I gathered my ritual supplies. I carefully handled the chunk of black tourmaline that would protect me from your overall negative and narcissistic energy. I carefully walked the house with my stick of selenite in hand, asking the universe to cleanse our working space.
By Alisha Wilkins ✒️🦋🖋️3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
You capture the insanity of this moment well - the dystopian horror of it. How tempting it is for art to be a mere distraction...when we all need to use our voices to call each other deeper into facing these evils. Thank you for being a truth-speaking voice through all of this - you're a real inspiration to me, friend. Not sure if you ever read this piece of mine, from a little while back? I would love to know what you think of it - I've been trying to form another piece to speak further about the evils of this moment, but have been really struggling to find the words. https://shopping-feedback.today/poets/the-colors-and-christophanies%3C/span%3E%3C/span%3E%3C/span%3E%3C/a%3E Thanks for all you do and are, kp!
What the actual ? Poppin poppies??? Freakin fascist flossflowers✨