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Monday, 13th of October with 1,258 notes
Gone Girl  

though i do wonder
why you intrigue me
i recognize that an exceptional moth
is always drawn
to an exceptional flame

you’re not at all what you appear
to be
though not so very different

i’ve not learned
the acceptable way of saying
you fascinate me
I’ve not even learned
how to say i like you
without frightening people
away

sometimes I see things
that aren’t really there
like warmth and kindness
when people are mean
but sometimes i see things
like fear and want to soothe it
or fatigue and want to share it
or love and want to receive it

is that weird
you think everyone is weird
thought you’re not really hypocritical
you just practice not being
what you want to be
and fail to understand
how others would dare
to be otherwise
that’s weird to me

flames don’t flicker
forever
and moths are born to be burned

it’s an unusual way
to start a friendship
but nothing last forever

—— Poem (for Ema) by Nikki Giovanni
Remember our Grimm story: mere persistence can be an act of disobedience. Perhaps there is nothing “mere” about persistence. Persistence can be a deviation from a trajectory, what stops the hurtling forward of fate, what prevents a fatality.

Sara Ahmed, Willful Subjects

Wednesday, 8th of October with 1,490 notes

I stood inside myself
like a dead tree or a tower.
I pulled the rope
of braided hair
and high above me
a bell of leaves tolled.

Because my hand
stabbed its brother,
I said: Make it stone.

Because my tongue
spoke harshly, I said:
Make it dust.
And yet
it was not death, but
her body in its green dress
I longed for. That’s why
I stood for days in the field
until the grass turned black
and the rain came.

—— Self-Portrait at Twenty by Gregory Orr
❝ And I want to play hide-and-seek and give you my clothes and tell you I like your shoes and sit on the steps while you take a bath and massage your neck and kiss your feet and hold your hand and go for a meal and not mind when you eat my food and meet you at Rudy’s and talk about the day and type up your letters and carry your boxes and laugh at your paranoia and give you tapes you don’t listen to and watch great films and watch terrible films and complain about the radio and take pictures of you when you’re sleeping and get up to fetch you coffee and bagels and Danish and go to Florent and drink coffee at midnight and have you steal my cigarettes and never be able to find a match and tell you about the tv programme I saw the night before and take you to the eye hospital and not laugh at your jokes and want you in the morning but let you sleep for a while and kiss your back and stroke your skin and tell you how much I love your hair your eyes your lips your neck your breasts your arse your

and sit on the steps smoking till your neighbour comes home and sit on the steps smoking till you come home and worry when you’re late and be amazed when you’re early and give you sunflowers and go to your party and dance till I’m black and be sorry when I’m wrong and happy when you forgive me and look at your photos and wish I’d known you forever and hear your voice in my ear and feel your skin on my skin and get scared when you’re angry and your eye has gone red and the other eye blue and your hair to the left and your face oriental and tell you you’re gorgeous and hug you when you’re anxious and hold you when you hurt and want you when I smell you and offend you when I touch you and whimper when I’m next to you and whimper when I’m not and dribble on your breast and smother you in the night and get cold when you take the blanket and hot when you don’t and melt when you smile and dissolve when you laugh and not understand why you think I’m rejecting you when I’m not rejecting you and wonder how you could think I’d ever reject you and wonder who you are but accept you anyway and tell you about the tree angel enchanted forest boy who flew across the ocean because he loved you and write poems for you and wonder why you don’t believe me and have a feeling so deep I can’t find words for it and want to buy you a kitten I’d get jealous of because it would get more attention than me and keep you in bed when you have to go and cry like a baby when you finally do and get rid of the roaches and buy you presents you don’t want and take them away again and ask you to marry me and you say no again but keep on asking because though you think I don’t mean it I do always have from the first time I asked you and wander the city thinking it’s empty without you and want what you want and think I’m losing myself but know I’m safe with you and tell you the worst of me and try to give you the best of me because you don’t deserve any less and answer your questions when I’d rather not and tell you the truth when I really don’t want to and try to be honest because I know you prefer it and think it’s all over but hang on in for just ten more minutes before you throw me out of your life and forget who I am and try to get closer to you because it’s beautiful learning to know you and well worth the effort and speak German to you badly and Hebrew to you worse and make love with you at three in the morning and somehow somehow somehow communicate some of the overwhelming undying overpowering unconditional all-encompassing heart-enriching mind-expanding on-going never-ending love I have for you. ❞
—— Sarah Kane, Crave
Friday, 3rd of October with 1,195 notes
Sarah Kane   Crave   Lit  
Friday, 3rd of October with 4,386 notes
❝ More beautiful women have loved you,
more talented. Poems about you have
already been written by better hands.
I can’t help but cover up my bare skin.
I flee. I’m not still enough for your love.
My lips are attached to a nervous face.
My No is always quicker than my Yes.
I want to touch you so badly I don’t
know how to even reach out. I’ll never
know how to say it: how sunk I am
in this love for you, how salty,
how sweet. ❞
—— October by Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz
❝ In my
dream, I
moved your
hand onto my
belt. You
parted my
lips. We
were not far
apart then. You
did not speak You
were welcome
intrusion You
were list
less lost last lust I
forget. ❞
—— Angela Veronica Wong, October from The Book Hours