Sep 7, 2021
Cruelty after all is made of distance â sign here & the world ends somewhere else. The world. The literal world.
Cameron Awkward-Rich, âThe Cure for What Ails You,â published in BOAAT
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Cruelty after all is made of distance â sign here & the world ends somewhere else. The world. The literal world.
Cameron Awkward-Rich, âThe Cure for What Ails You,â published in BOAAT
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I want to know do I
hurt people because of what
they made me feel or do I
have feelings I have always had
and try to make the world
look like it gave them to me?
â Margaret Ross, from âHistory,â published in BOAAT
Love me and there will be ripe apricots. Hugs. Velvet. Silk. Have some. Love notes,
folded into swans. Brioche. Soft, folded sweaters. Please, theyâre yours. Boiled
wool. Itâs so fine if you accept my offerings and smile and throw them away
around the corner. Folded self on slightly mussed sheets. Knees
folded into belly. Butter. Folded corners of pages with folded hearts inside. Shy
& soft but a snail doesnât go to die when it slides back into its shell,
it waits to move when the world will let it move at its own pace. I shy
& I soft & I donât hold your hand until I know you can tender.
â Andy Powell, from âNow For the Real Me,â published in BOAAT
Have you ever seen the dark split / into two peaches? Sickness is a lot like that.
Shira Erlichman, from âOde to Lithium #75: Mind Over Matterâ published in BOAAT
tell me I make you feel the way you feel / to sense wings overhead in the dark / tell me Iâm the one shot deer who tramples the shooter
â Â Claire Meuschke, from âNeutral,â published in BOAAT
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
A street called Main. A room called bed. My loverâs back at daybreak
offering itself for scratchingâlower, lower,
higher now, now harder, yes, like that.
â Maggie Millner, from âAubade,â published in BOAAT
I believe in doom and all its sister griefs
I believe in my thoughts reducing me to negligible
I believe in the words that I make up to color myself
â Sahar Muradi, from âPaper a Small Life,â published in BOAAT
In the migratory sense, I was returning to myself,
a leather suitcase by my ankle like a choice.
It all makes sense when youâre alive,
though I couldnât explain it to anyone who wasnât:
the books, the sour rain, our walking home all doomed and glad and apple-eyed,
so cold and red because of it, because of having skin.
â Maggie Millner, from âAubade,â published in BOAAT