Forte is French… for blanket fort.

If you've never been rocked back by the presence of purpose this poem is too soon for you. Return to your mediocrity, plug it into an amplifier and rethink yourself.

You are the home I point to that lives in my chest.

Pretend – inside your skin – you've got a friend, who's willing to give you everything you ever wanted in exchange for all you've ever been.

Make love to me like you know I am better than the worst thing I ever did.

Love makes no mistakes.

Even good hearts know how to turn bad touch and genocide into clichés just to make room for more comfort.