In Internet Posts It Is Easy To Cut Them Out Of Your Life. They Are Hurting You! They Aren't Listening

The Secret to Happiness

You will get just what you give,

and take what you recieve.

A lesson you will come to learn,

you never must deceive.

To be yourself, a humble gift,

a freedom for your mind.

But this is not true just for you,

this gift of being kind.

You must be kind to everyone,

as they are kind to you.

Treat others with only respect,

you'll be respected too.

If you're content to be yourself

and let others do the same,

it allows them to be happy too

and live without the shame.

It starts with just a simple thing,

to treat yourself with care.

And then it spreads to everyone,

a kindness we all share.

If you give what you expect,

you will get very far.

The secret to your happiness,

be kind to who you are.

- SMP 💜 (be kind, be you)

“and the universe said…”

fireflies honestly make me cry a little. out of gratitude and wonder. thank goodness we live in a world with bioluminescence. thank goodness we live in a world where it can fly.

PSA for fanfic writers

When someone you love offers a bid for connection, you say yes every time. When someone sends you an article, a video, a funny post, it’s a bid for connection. They are trying to connect with you. When someone shares details about their day, their life, their thoughts, or their feelings with you, that is a bid for connection. They want to connect with you on a deeper level. They are trying to pull you into their world. If you love them, you say yes every time. Yes, even if the article they send is not particularly interesting to you. Yes, even if it means listening to them ramble about a game you don’t care about and think is stupid. Yes yes yes. And let’s hope they always say yes to your bids, too.

i have a soft secret wish that conspires against me in the sleepy hours of late afternoon when my big dog sighs into my shoulder and nuzzles under my arm while we both procrastinate his walk a little longer just until we are done being on the couch together, curled up

i need to believe that if he could choose, he would stay looped indelicately, his legs a cascade in the air rolling his back on the only floor i can afford him instead of the romantic impossible wild

there are moments where his ears perk up at a rabbit and he watches their white tail tuck into a bush, like a wink. i don't know what dogs dream about but i hope to god

if he is dreaming about being a wolf he is not disappointed when he wakes up to blunted teeth

Me too girl tf

Bottlecap Press

poems i shouldn't have written, by amelia nason

Poetry, chapbook, 28 pages, from Bottlecap Features. interwoven with fact & fiction, poems i shouldn’t have written chronicles young lov

From amelia nason's chapbook, poems i shouldn't have written, available from Bottlecap Press!

Bottlecap Press

Chan Says & Other Songs, by Caleb Nichols

Poetry, chapbook, 56 pages, from Bottlecap Features. At the intersection of land/sea, sexuality/gender, and fairy tale/reality CHAN SAYS & O

From Caleb Nichols' chapbook, Chan Says & Other Songs, a companion piece to Caleb's Kill Rock Stars EP of the same name!

I want to write you an escape.

A pocket of happy time and space.

Where you're okay.

In the mountains, in a tree, in a nothing of muted pastels.

Just somewhere where you can sing,

and your fingers don't sting from strumming.

And our lungs can go on for forever.

I can write up that sort of escape with ink and paper and imagination.

The clouds would be puffy, and grass would be wet beneath our bare feet.

The longing and worry and confusion of yesterday would slip through our fingers.

We’d watch the drops puddle and tumble and fall through the cracks out of existence.

We would stay and it falls away.

And the rain blows and the wind smiles and the leaves sing.

Nothing makes any sense, but we are safe.

Yet that place, it's not...real.

The world collapses around us and I am left with ink on paper that I can't see clearly.

Your eyes are downcast and clouded.

You can’t see my words.

I don’t know how to cocoon you in that existence.

But then you take my hand and we run away.

And we make our own escape of flesh and blood and brick.

We joke in puddles of blankets and you play your ukulele.

And yet we have to leave for the bathroom.

The conversation is jolted and a little awkward at times.

Your fingers grow tired, and strings get off key, but we are here.

We made it.

And it's just the sort of escape we needed.