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Speculative fiction writer from New York. For published work visit francoamatiwrites.com or buy me a coffee at ko-fi.com/francoamati
Photo by Kyle Johnson on Unsplash

there’s a point where being cool no longer matters the place where sexy goes to die there’s a time when it means more to be sincere and by sincere, I don’t mean truthful or accurate I just mean genuine, unironic and ugly, rough disgusting even — be the way you are even if you’re a crude assembly of mismatched parts — a thing that doesn’t seem to make sense to anyone but you see, that’s the thing to love consistency: uncool dependability: uncool predictability: uncool but that’s the stuff that matters at the end of the day it won’t get…


Photo by Kyle Johnson on Unsplash

it feels like getting a part of me back maybe it’s nothing to most — maybe it’s small but in the depths of utter chaos — in the stark tragedy of loss the return of something small no matter how mundane no matter how simple no matter how trivial — it’s everything it’s the reprisal of some dignity the revival of skill the sensation of being useful again a return to belonging a return to familiarity a return to some kind of home because now I know, I was not cast out I was not forgotten the people have heard…


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I know this place we share is your whole universe your little heart it beats with zeal your little sounds, your high notes of spirit and life remind me that this rock is a good place to be though I may go away sometimes I bring you along in a way you’re the bounce in my step the reason behind a smile the joy in my every return your time here might not be as long as mine, though, of course who’s to tell but I’ll make it my duty to ensure your stay is as great as it can…


Photo by Suzy Hazelwood from Pexels

I let the thought of you hold me — sometimes that’ll get me through see, the seriousness of the night can only be faced with illusion and the conjuring of angels, spirits of self-deception bolster me, lie to me — tell me it’s going to be just fine a few minutes of holding the hand of a ghost is all I need to get by her voice will remind me as it comforts my head that I’m strong enough to get through — wise enough to go it alone phantoms and demons gypsies and saints beggars and sinners they all…


Photo by Suzy Hazelwood from Pexels

no one told the kid most likely to succeed that she was also the most likely to fail because the only way to get the things you dream of is to fail over and over and over and over to start over and over and over and over trying striving reaching and dying playing the game and playing it over and over and over getting so used to that screen that says game over, game over, game over more coins continue don’t quit before the miracle but they say the miracle is in the work so…chip and a chair, you…


Photo by Kyle Johnson on Unsplash

the smell of old books, sweet, heavy, divine in the corner of the university library my haven, quiet oasis escape from the frenetic, erratic, unpredictable pace of social life of roommates of classmates of crushes and bad dates words on page a saving grace no other human in sight like when the world itself was created alone, splashing in a sea of knowledge untapped excitement endless discovery on dusty shelves the only sound heard in hours is the ding of an elevator on the other side of the room such places of holy solitude are disappearing I didn’t know it…


Photo by Alex Kozlov from Pexels

you’re more of a character than a person to me absent the warmth that once kept me close where’s your heart? much more than a few hours away, I think there’s no forgiveness in you devoid of simple compassion for those who suffer as you do right, no one suffers the same, but it takes a real person to see past their own but of course, you’ve become more of a character than a person to me flee — I want to flee the frigid face of you the voice that’s now empty, songless yet commands nonetheless I want to…


Photo by Alex Kozlov from Pexels

the hardest part of the afternoon is when the sun bathes the room in clean, glorious rays shining light on all the hideousness that surrounds me in this place and if I’m not careful, the light can sneak its way into me revealing worries and shame and fears and pain — all things better kept hidden in the dark where they get no nourishment, where they can be written off as illusions, where I can convince myself that these basement things aren’t real trust me, to get through the hardest part of the afternoon, sometimes it takes more than thick…


Photo by Alex Kozlov from Pexels

no one thinks about you as much as you think they do you anguish over how you hope they saw you over whether you think they’ll call you you worry about a vague impression a choice of words a mere digression no one’s mind sees another better than it thinks it sees itself we’re always harsher critics when it comes to our own lives go ahead, beat yourself up a little more tell yourself you’re ugly fail before you even try no one cares about your final score more than you do no one’s watching it only feels like the…


Photo by Claudio Schwarz | @purzlbaumon Unsplash

when the lights go out and life gets so dark all lonely souls want a god they can talk to some want a powerful father some want beautiful mothers others want devils to laugh along with them me I want a friend who will always understand to listen, to heal, to just hold my hand see, some gods they seek to control demand everything from the weak these gods will destroy you with rules and commands but then they’ll forsake you when the worst is at hand but my lovely god is a reflection of my mind she’s patient and…

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