"Am I brave enough?
Can I hold the weight of this?
Will it break me now?"
"
I no longer need you to fuck me as hard
as I hate myself.
Make love to me
like you know I am better than the worst thing I ever did.
Go slow.
I’m new to this
but I have seen nearly every city from a rooftop without jumping.
I have realized
that the moon did not have to be full for us to love it.
We are not tragedies
stranded here beneath it.
(Source: ymehcuotrac)
"I bought plum blossoms
more for the name
than for the color;
I buy lipstick that way, too.
In other words,
if it sounds like a poem,
I’ll take it."
"There’s fire in you
and my love I cannot wait
to feel myself burn."
Tyler Knott Gregson
"You tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
prettier
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do, love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love."
(Source: sotla)
the craft
the first line of a poem should usher you in,
a door half open,
a warm glow,
an empty seat.
the last line should punch you in the stomach.
-Warsan Shire
"Were we born lonely?
Have we always been waiting
to be filled again?"
"Will you be my breeze
if I’m your open window?
Make my curtains dance."
Cloud
If you are a poet, you will see clearly that there is a could floating in this sheet of paper.
-Thich Nhat Hanh
XX
Before you became a cloud, you were an ocean, roiled and
murmuring like a mouth. You were the shadow of a cloud cross-
ing over a field of tulips. You were the tears of a man who cried
into a plaid handkerchief. You were the sky without a hat. Your
heart puffed and flowered like sheets drying on a line.
And when you were a tree, you listened to trees and the tree
things trees told you. You were the wind in the wheels of a red
bicycle. You were the spidery Maria tattooed on the hairless arm
of a boy in downtown Houston. You were the rain rolling off the
waxy leaves of a magnolia tree. A lock of straw-colored hair
wedged between the mottled pages of a Victor Hugo novel. A
crescent of soap. A spider the color of a fingernail. The black nets
beneath the sea of olive trees. A skein of blue wool. A tea saucer
wrapped in newspaper. An empty cracker tin. A bowl of blueber-
ries in heavy cream. White wine in a green-stemmed glass.
And when you opened your wings to wind, across the punched-
tin sky above a prison courtyard, those condemned to death and
those condemned to life watched how smooth and sweet a white cloud glides.
-Sandra Cisneros
(Source: rawsugar)
under their breath, someone said.
by the time i’ve finished with you, you won’t know whether you’ve been kissed or cut, whether you were loved or butchered. and either way you probably won’t care, just grateful you came close enough to touch.
-Warsan Shire
"I give myself five days to forget you.
On the first day, I rust.
On the second day, I wilt.
On the third day I sit with friends but 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.
On the fifth day, I adorn myself like the mouth of an inmate,
A wedding singer dressed in borrowed gold.
The midas of cheap metal.
Tinsel in the middle of summer.
Crevice glitter, two days after the party.
I glow the way unwanted things do,
A neon sign that reads;
Come, I still taste of someone else’s mouth."
(Source: genuine-feeling.tumblr.om)
