What is it in us that lives in the past and longs for the future, or lives in...– Mark Strand, from “No Words Can Describe It” (via awritersruminations)
Your daughter’s face is a small riot, her hands are a civil war, a refugee...– Warsan Shire, from “Ugly” (via vonberno)
And I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody...– Franz Kafka (via larmoyante)
I had a dream about you. We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets...– Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain (via commovente)
you were made for this: provingmyexistence: a note... →
provingmyexistence: a note to self 1. There will be several days that you daydream about stepping in front of a city bus. Don’t. It will not be beautiful. It will not be brave. It will be selfish. It will be broken. Your mother will cry. 2. Don’t write for him. Write for you. Write for…
What if everything were revealed: where I was last night. You, etc. The rain...– “This Deepening Takes Place Again,” Emily Kendal Frey (via commovente)
dear samantha i’m sorry we have to get a divorce i know that seems like an...– Jared Singer, An Entomologist’s Last Love Letter (via byrdseed)
Where was I going? you want to know. To sea. The way young men in stories go to...– Philip Levine, “Blue and Blue” (via commovente)
I was satisfied with haiku until I met you, jar of octopus, cuckoo’s cry,...– “Changing Genres,” Dean Young (via commovente)
Timothy McSweeney: Why write poetry?
Rebecca Lindenberg: I think there is a general misconception that you write poems because you “have something to say.” I think, actually, that you write poems because you have something echoing around in the bone-dome of your skull that you cannot say. Poetry allows us to hold many related tangential notions in very close orbit around each other at the same time. The “unsayable” thing at the center of the poem becomes visible to the poet and reader in the same way that dark matter becomes visible to the astrophysicist. You can’t see it, but by measure of its effect on the visible, it can become so precise a silhouette you can almost know it.
Salinger, I’m sorry, but “Don’t ever tell anybody anything” is a string of...– Ilse Bendorf, Catch A Body (via grammatolatry)
That summer I did not go crazy but I wore very close very close to the...– Dorothy Allison, from “To the Bone“ (via fromsappho)
What we feel most has no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses, and birds.– Jack Gilbert, from “The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart” (via budddha)
[We rise.] What else can we do, we fucking rise.– Jon McGregor, from Even the Dogs (via the-final-sentence)
They walked side by side in the vast silence of the Rot and Ruin.– Jonathan Maberry, from Rot and Ruin (via the-final-sentence)
Even when things end badly, there are radiant moments or experiences with failed...– Jonathan Carroll (via browndresswithwhitedots)
I wait and ache.– Sylvia Plath (via loveyourchaos)
I thought leaving you would be easy, just walking out the door but I keep...– Clementine von Radics (via la-douleur-exquise)
I never felt open in any way. I would never impulsively ring people and assume...– Morrissey (via forlornes)
I’d woken up early and I took a long time getting ready to exist.– The Book of Disquiet, Fernando Pessoa (via delicateswans)
The gods envy us. They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment may be...– Achilles (Troy)
How often since then has she wondered what might have happened if she’d tried to...– The Hours, Michael Cunningham
fleurishes: I wish there could be an exit- interview for the end of a relationship, where I could take you to a little room in the apartment we bought together on a whim, where I could ask what it was exactly that made you fall out of love with me, where we could discuss, in detail, the things we both could have improved upon. Maybe I would tell you about the guy who touched my thigh in...
My heart is so tired.– Markus Zusak (via fantasiesandgraves)
It’s midnight now and somewhere in a November that still exists tonight, we’re...– “Thinking About The Way You Hold Your Hands Over Flowerbeds,” Shinji Moon (via commovente)
writingsforwinter: I fell in like with you at the exact moment in Little Miss Sunshine when Frank tells his family he wanted to kill himself because his grad student didn’t love him back. I say like because when I start to fall for somebody, I’m experimenting, not in the sense that they’re a test-tube subject but in the sense that I’m trying them out like a fashion designer would try out a...