If I came back
in another life,
I would choose to
in your kitchen:
The way you
would hold me,
the way you
would leave lipstick
the way we
would spend the
Just discovered you on upworthy. You're doing such great work for racial awareness. You're so young and it makes me sad that you have to put up with this racial bull shit that I experienced when I was young. I'm so glad that because of the internet, pioneers of race, like yourself, are getting to spread the message that race is not just limited to black and white or what religion you are. You're doing such fantastic work. Keep it up.
Thanks for the kind words stranger :)
When it comes to sexting in public,
there are a few things to know:
The first thing
is that whatever you were doing before,
will not get done. If you’re doing it right,
this is going to be your main focus
for a hot minute.
This is a game of discreet passion.
You have to be both
in the moment that you and your lover
have written, and be present enough
in whatever is going on around you
that no one will check who you’re texting.
You’ll learn, very quickly,
that your sex vocabulary is shockingly limited.
There is in fact, a finite amount of times
you can use the word “fuck” in a sext.
That includes variations of it.
This is where those inappropriate thoughts
on the bus ride come in handy. Think
about the little things. Be detailed.
The art is all in the verbal teasing.
Become a cunning linguist.
But as you compose these saucy texts,
make sure that you don’t get too noticeably
excited. Sit in a way that is comfortable
and will conceal your boner.
When you read something particularly…
provocative, don’t show it on your face.
Show it in your response back.
If you need help, a good couple
of starting points are:
What would I want you to do now?
What do I want to do to you right now?
Just like normal sex, this is give and take.
Send a sext that can go somewhere,
that leaves room for a steamy answer.
If you just tell about how much you want to fuck,
it’s not going to be the best of fun.
Sext: I want you naked in the kitchen
Sext: Baby, I need you.
Sext: How do you feel about whipped cream?
Take in every word they write back to you
and relish it. You two have entered a form
of sexual intimacy that used to take
long-distance couples weeks to perform!
Sext: Why stop there? Laundry room too?
Sext: I love it when you’re bad.
Sext: Only if you lick it all off.
Shit. Was that sent to my mom?
Even countries away, miles apart,
or just in the other room, you two have decided
to be together in this moment because
you can’t wait any longer.
Sext: I want to strip the walls of this home
and rebuild them with you.
Sext: We are stories being written, edited,
and read aloud to each other.
Sext: I’m going to place an entire desert in our hourglass.
If you can, allow yourself to get lost.
Even if you have to get away to be alone,
to be together, do it.
Sext: We’ll be old, retired, in rocking chairs
and I’ll still try to impress you.
Sext: I want to fit into your back like a spoon
into the soft of an avocado.
Sext: You twirl your hair like a goddamn pistol.
Cupid’s arrows have nothing on you.
And you’ll feel the shift, the pulse and rhythm,
the tectonic plates settling after moving
the entire world, then you send the last,
and the sexiest of sexts.
Sext: I love you.
and want to redecorate instead of getting out. ❞
You inspire me so much Alex! Thank you for writing great poems that hit me so hard in the gut. I am bisexual, but nobody knows, not even my closest friends of family. I don't sit like the lady I'm supposed to be, and my dad looks down on guys or girls who are "different". My grades are sinking as I'm slowly isolating myself. It's 2AM and your poems inspire me to pick up my books tomorrow, to do homework and fix things. I'm sorry if these facts upset you in any way. I just wanted to say thank you
You are very welcome. I know and understand those kind of struggles, but please keep going and I know when you feel comfortable enough, you’ll have the strength to proceed and go further. Good luck!
Just saw your epic (I mean that) poem you recited, and now has been picked up by UpWorthy. Awesome! I hope we see a lot more of you in the future! Oh, a question? What's the fastest land animal?
This is all just very insane but definitely revving me up to do even better work!
I hear them cheetahs are really fast.
Thanks to everyone who made this whole thing possible. This is way beyond any of my expectations and I still don’t know how to react. But I know this makes me want to work harder and to keep practicing. Thanks for coming guys. And I hope there is more to come.
We’ve all heard the saying:
Drink 8 glasses of water every day!
That’s like 2 liters a day.
That’s a lot of water.
Can’t I just drink it when I’m thirsty instead?
Infants bodies usually are made up of 75% water
and as we grow older, we lose a lot of that body water.
Most humans average about 60%.
My mother came to America by water.
After the collapse of her country and
the destruction of her home, her and her family fled.
I never learned how to swim.
My oldest brothers learned by
jumping into the deep end and turned
flailing into smoother motions.
I was too afraid to be thrown in.
I was too scared of sinking like worry stones.
When I was young, I would only drink
water if it were sweetened. My mom,
I remember, would mix sugar in iced water
when we went out to eat in restaurants for me.
When my mom was young,
she was stranded on a boat for months.
She could only drink water when
there was enough to go around.
How cruel is it be surrounded
by so much water only to find out
that it becomes poison when you drink it?
I tried to avoid water as much as I could.
I hated showers, I hated baths,
I would tightly wear my hood over my beanie-
clad head and grip an umbrella when
What the water gave my mother
is a means of escape and a means of life.
How I treat the water is as a method
of torture, as an inconvenient obstacle.
My mom sailed for at least two years
before landing on solid ground. The water
made her nauseous but the water kept her alive.
My father is the best swimmer around.
Even as a smoker of 20 plus years, he can
out school and out fish any aquatic creature.
My brother’s best friend
drowned in a river accident
and my brother
still shivers when he hears running water.
My dad and his best friends skipped school
once and went to the beach. One of them wandered
too far and the tide grabbed him by the ankles
and pulled him underneath the sheets and blankets
of wave and surf. They tried so hard to save him.
My mother was so happy when the boat
was repaired and they could sail again.
If they were caught, at best they would be thrown into prison.
I never splashed in puddles when I was younger;
I never tracked mud or wet shoe prints into the house.
I am made up of at least 60% of water.
More than half of my body is made from
the salvations and terrors of my family.
What the water brought me
is caution and safety
What the water brought me
is danger and risk
What the water brought me
is lessons and sacrifice
More than half of my being
is made out of these stories.
More than half the planet
is made out of our stories.
More than half of my figure is 60% water
and I am losing more and more as I get older.
You can live up to 2 weeks
with water alone, and yet
I am sinking in all of this water.
I am breathing in all of this water.
I am drowning in my family’s history.
How selfish of me to never
learn how to swim.
Will you be at the Slam this Sunday?
I don’t think so! I’ll be up later down in March though!
Black Girl/White Boy by Angel Nafis and Jon Sands
I shut the water off. Applying the deodorant
that you liked, carefully slip into my pair
of lucky boxer briefs. The house is
still. And the heater breathes fire into space.
Two legs, straight. Black jeans pull up
the pillars like thick curtains.
Outside is cold.
My white tee shirt underneath the
black button up you bought me,
white silk tie snakes my neck in a
new fashion of excitement, of nervousness.
Comb your hair, brush your teeth,
check your breath.
Any crack will cradle water and
it’s so cold outside, it will immediately
freeze, expand, and break you ruthless.
This has to be perfect.
We have to be.
Wheels roll underneath my
feet and the wind blows
kisses at my eyes. I hope
this does not monkey paw me.
Line 71 to Southeast,
I sit in the back and text you:
“I’m not doing much. Just hanging out.”
“Oh, I’m just home alone.”
So many gusts of air
walk around. Everyone
is inside. Brick walled, warm,
merry little Christmases.
Bump, bump, groan
of the bus, of my insides?
I can’t tell. I relate.
I’m walking to your door.
I’m creeping trouble: the gut
that replaces your stomach
Every body part is replaced
with something made out of
99% danger. I can’t tell
what the 1% is.
I’m knocking on your door.
It’s really cold.
Your hands look really warm.
Your bed is really warm.
You are really warm.
We get so cold over time.❞
16 by Alex Dang!