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from "Filling Spice Jars as Your Wife" by Kai Coggin

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Richard Jackson, from “Nausicaa’s Secret”

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Anis Mojgani, In the Pockets of Small Gods

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“I was like a patient who cannot tell the doctor where it hurts, only that it does.” - Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed

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Alone by Edgar Allan Poe

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“—and every second of the way she watched him, and he reached for her, and their eyes never left each other.”

—

Philip Pullman, in “Northern Lights”, from His Dark Materials

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— since our story is a crime itself | g.f.

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poem writing tips from poemcrazy by susan goldsmith wooldridge

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Pensacola News Journal, Florida, March 8, 1934

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“I wanted a God who knew the pains of bleeding once a month. I wanted that God. I wanted her to speak in my language. I wanted that God. I couldn’t stand giving my God the same pronoun as the ones whose smell i was trying to wash away. I wanted a God who screamed for me to live. An emotional God. I wanted this God and i wrote “her” as often as i could. The thought of any other pronoun almost suffocated me. I couldn’t even stand it. I wanted a God as woman as me with my sins as painful as hers.”

— Ijeoma Umebinyuo, letters to Ada (via wethinkwedream)

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my absolute favourite poem

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Didnt we move past this?

Didnt we get better than this?

Fell the fire on your tongue

It burns your world insensitive and in-compassionate

Phrases that could damage on their own

Feel the bile in your throat

Even if you could mean the words you’d vomit the disgust of your own terrible actions

Feel the hurt on your friends face

The pain it brings

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I wish my head was quiet in this disaster 

That I could touch its lips and whisper hush, rock it to sleep

Some things are so loud you cant even hear it

Where did you go? 

I only hear of your after math 

You cant bother to listen for mine 

I doubt you’d even want to though

Doubt you’d want to listen for my normal noise

I wish my brain were quiet in its destruction

I want to be silent predator

Anything but the bumbling mess of me

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audre lorde, from if you come softly, the first cities

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i put a spell on you it called for 3/5s of my blood apple pie, red bones & a full moon but instead i did it in the daylight, wanting you to see me ending you stupid stupid me i know better than to fuck with a recipe

Danez Smith, “You’re Dead, America,” published in Buzzfeed’s Reader (via bostonpoetryslam)

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Goodnight, dear one. I want to put my arms around you & kiss you at the corner of your mouth. And in a little more than a week now—I shall. Oh! dear one, it is all the little things, tones in your voice, the feel of your hair, gestures, these are the things I think about & long for. I wish I could lie down beside you tonight and take you in my arms.

Eleanor Roosevelt in a letter to Lorena Hickok, quoted in Odd Girls and Twilight Lovers: A History of Lesbian Life in Twentieth-Century America (via reading-blog)

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Ah, it was January in her eyes but her tears 

tasted 

of May.

Her love, her love felt too much like August to carry her through

another

day.