- ̗̀ harlow ̖́-

i will never know how you see red and you will never know how i see it
          
          anne carson

her shoulder blades sticking out as if they wanted to grow into wings, poke through that skin. little blades. she was helpless
          
          charles bukowski

did the gods really cast a hero's curse on all of the brave? or did we just prefer to only write about the fallen?
          
          k.m.

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what do you do when you aren't enough? when there isn't enough you-ness in your skin, in your bones, in your blood. is there enough me to light a fire? is there enough me to paint the night sky black? i don't think there is enough pigment. i feel more like water color. i don't feel entirely here, or there, or anywhere
          
          zoë lianne

but she did look back and i love her for that, because it was so human 
          
          kurt vonnegut

how savage to tell me 
          jesus was watching from his 
          grave 
          how cruel. tell god to meet me 
          there. let him cringe at the sight 
          of me. 
          how hateful. like jesus, 
          i died and rose again, but with more 
          bruises. 
          how brutish. i'll confess but i  
          won't atone. let me mimic 
          my maker
          
          s. marden

you are a woman now
          but you have always had skin
          here are some ways in which
          you are not free: the interiors
          are all wrong, you are a drought
          sprawling. when you see a god
          you don't like what you see
          it is never enough to be born
          again and again
          
          morgan parker

you are not a war. there is nothing to be won here. you asked me once what my ruin is. what could make me a monster
          
          marty mcconnell

how can it be that, linked to such suffering, her face is still the face of happiness for me?
          
          albert campus