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 Oh little girl be hot and cold and think for yourself.
That’s all I ask. I used to ask that you be happy, but
now I want you unbeholden to anyone in this far from credible cosmos. 

Alice Notley, from “Cuticle,” in Culture of One (via ecantwell)

deeplystained

 Forgive me my grief
that spans out acres.
I have love the size of
a church, & no one to
give it to.
Do I cut my hair?
Do I harvest all of my beginnings?
I touch my teeth with my tongue
to remember the sharp can fade.
Someone learns my name.
I fall asleep. 

Ana Carrizo, “Reflections” (via elvedon)

dearprongs

 my dear,
we are all made of water. 
it’s okay to rage. sometimes 
it’s okay to rest. to recede. 

Sanober Khan (via thequotejournals)

lifeinpoetry:

I.

Love is not enough. I still want  to tear my skin  from the outside in.

II.

I have let my bones get picked apart like carrion. I did it. I bit my nails down to the quick.

III.

Fear is not my mother tongue. I do not speak it.    It speaks me.

IV.

This is what I had to tell myself today: I exist. I exist. I am here. This world is not imaginary. Neither am I.

V.

I am not gentle. I am not kind.

— Venetta Octavia, “Confessions From a Mad Girl’s Diary,” What We Left Behind 

shadowami

 So maybe this time, love doesn’t kick down the door—
doesn’t rattle the windows or plant weeds in the flower garden.
Maybe you can’t smell the smoke because,
for once,
nothing is burning.
Maybe this love is all the things
those loves wanted to be when they grew up.
Maybe you spent all that time running
so that you’d know how to hang up your coat
when you were ready. 

Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)

theperceiverofchange

 carrying a pack of cigarettes and not smoking
them / wearing clothes that are three sizes
too big / losing twenty pounds and laughing
about it / scaring my mother / buying plane tickets
with the only money I have / crying in the soda aisle 
of the grocery store / frantically making plans
and then canceling them / sleeping for five hours
in the middle of the day / draping blankets over
the windows / forgetting the sunscreen / e-mailing 
professors about absences / driving towards the mountain 
but never up / too much coffee / falling asleep with a cup of wine
next to the bed / the same sweatshirt for weeks 
and then suddenly, a new one. 

Fortesa Latifi - what depression looks like

from We Were Young

yourveryfleshshallbeagreatpoem

 I give myself five days to forget you.
on the first day I rust.
on the second I wilt.
on the third day I sit with friends but I think about your tongue.
I clean my room on the fourth day. 
I clean my body on the fourth day.
I try to replace your scent on the fourth day. 
the fifth day, I adorn myself like the mouth of an inmate /
I glow the way unwanted things do,
a neon sign that reads;
come, I still taste like someone else’s mouth. 

Warsan Shire (via milktree)
yourveryfleshshallbeagreatpoem

 I have a deep fear of being too much. That one day
I will find my someone, and they will realize that I am
a hurricane. That they will step back and be intimidated
by my muchness. 

Michelle K., Rumbles From My Head 
(via wnq-writers)

yourveryfleshshallbeagreatpoem

I love myself.’

the
quietest.
simplest.
most
powerful.
revolution.
ever.

 

Nayyirah Waheed 
 (via psych-facts)

deeplystained

 The sky opens up like
it is happy to see us. Here comes
some beauty. Eager and broken light. 

Wendy Xu, from “We Are Both Sure to Die,” You Are Not Dead  (via featherumbrellas)

@rosarest

(via dosenherz)