oejrowjdwodjp

[oejrowjdwodjp]

you happily crooned an i love you across the bed, i drowsed back a faint “love you”. in the slowing heart beats of silence i could taste the shards and needle pricks of the word “i” and the quilt “i love you” stuffed in the back of my head. how would it taste if i said them out loud? would it feel like the pins and pricks of the “i love you” in my mind?

i show this to you and you tell me that it is an ugly poem. i reply, “i know. i meant it to be ugly. i need you to understand that the ugliness in me is deeper than you think.” you tell me that i should write prettier things. you can’t see the ugliness seeping into my eye sockets, my veins are closing up with ugliness and how am i supposed to see the world beautifully when inside me is nothing but waste.

i tried. i tried to write about you but i ended up sobbing into my pillow’s arms, the only warmth from my own tears. and you know, sobbing is not as beautiful as the word itself. sobbing is having no air in your lungs—can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe—gasping frantically for air. you close your mouth to hide the noises because you are afraid of the eyes . it doesn’t work—air air air air air—you need air, you’re snorting for breath because your nose must do what your mouth refuses. you cough and your nose is running but you can’t blow it. they are watching. i haven’t been able to breathe since that day.

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you look up from your laptop, eyes sweeping over one of the shelves on your desk. it's crowded, momentos breathless against each other, glass and dust everywhere you look. snow globes, key chains, and one of those laser crystal glass things depicting a famous attraction of a city you once visited. they shove and push, all eagerly upright under your gaze. you pick up one of the snow globes in a sort of glaze, cringing at the amount of dust collecting on your fingers. but you know, you can't just pick it up without swirling it around once. with childlike glee, you turn the globe upside down and watch the world inside dance in slow motion. as the white flecks leisurely drift downwards, you stare, a small smile spreading on your face. once it stops, you swirl it around one last time before taking all your souvenirs down from the shelf. empty. the shelf shivers bare and white as it watches you put all these knick-knacks in a small box, never to be seen again. if not never, then at least for a very long time. i haven't seen you in a while. goodbye, childhood. the snow globe is still dancing from the inside.

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my bones are crying out to an empty light. you were within my grasp, but the searing numbness took my face and quietly closed my eyes for me. the numbness takes form as a carved woman. her face is covered by a veil made of stone, but the stone looks so soft i almost reached out to touch it. she used her lifeless hands to cradle me, and i cried in her arms. when i was done, i pushed her off the edge of my tears, and i watched in silence. i could never forget the noise. SHE SCREAMS AT NIGHT, EVERY TIME I CLOSE MY EYES I CAN HEAR HER WAILS AND GROANS IN MY DREAMS. i open my eyes. can’t seem to feel my fingers anymore.

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you’re in your bed with your noise cancelling head phones in, trying to block out the sound of your mom’s screaming, but it doesn’t work because you don’t know how to turn them on and you’re too awake because it’s only 11:43. your eyes better not be swollen tomorrow.

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on purpose. I love you on purpose.

the seven husbands of evelyn hugo / the swan no. 3 / euripides (trans. anne carson) / reassurance

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LOVE IS STORED IN THE KITCHEN PT 1/? our beautiful life when it’s filled with shrieks by christopher citro, perhaps the world ends here by joy harjo, kerrylockwood on instagram, the egg-eaters by hilde goossens, @3000s on tumblr, art by tomoko hara @tomokohara, a pot of red lentils by peter pereira, bread and soup by diane fraser, @grebcomics, from a letter to donald windham by tennessee williams

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living ⚗️ 1. The journal of a disappointed man by W.N.P Barbellion // 2 & 4 by me // 3. “How do you go about finding the heart?”: Aracelis Girmay on Poetry, Discovery, and Grief // 5. Instructions on not giving up ( 1976) by Ada Limón

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the goldfinch, donna tartt // illustration by instachaaz (ig) // selected poems by frank o’hara // the witcher, netfilx // suffocation, crystal castles c. 2010 // the diaries of franz kafka // diary, virginia woolf

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6.10.20

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my veins are exploding inside me. i am losing you, my fingers barely touching yours. i am screaming, but nothing is coming out. i am encased in glass, stuffed and suffocated. i am being watched from all angles. i don’t want it anymore. you’re smiling. why are you letting go? the glass is piercing through my arm and my knees are nailed together. come back. come back, please?

alternative version:

vines are growing in my limbs, my knees are being nailed together, i am being stuffed like a taxidermic animal, my knuckles have been shattered and barely glued back together again. you slowly let go of my hand, our fingers only just brushing. i’m encased in glass, there are so many eyes. i don’t want it anymore. you’re smiling. where are you going? the glass is piercing my body but there’s no blood. i am becoming a glass body and everything inside me has been bared and emptied and YOU’VE TAKEN IT ALL. give it back.

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Emily Palermo, “What I Could Never Confess Without Some Bravado” // Hieu Minh Nguyen, “Pig” // Richard Siken, “Planet of Love” // Mary Oliver, “Dogfish”

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hi !! can i request xiao and the crystalfly that he gifted to traveler on his birthday :”)

he naturally attracts them just like that 

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Frank Bidart, from Half-light: Collected Poems; “Guilty of Dust”

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when you hear the word “blue” do you think of the sea or the sky first?

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i have lost myself in the process of finding you. i’m afraid to go back, i’m afraid of who i am, afraid of what’s left—afraid of what’s gone, what should be there but isn’t.

i want to swallow this inside and hide it deep. this fear of who i have become because of you. i place it on my tongue and it is as tangible as the pills my mother used to force me to take when i was sick—pills i pretended to swallow but threw away in the bathroom trash can. that is why i cannot swallow pills. it lies there, unable to be taken in. my throat aches with realization. it’s sore with being so aware. it longs for comfort from this ringing silence.

this fear—when it’s bored of my mouth and tongue—plays along my hands. it lounges on the valleys between my white knuckles. it leans against bony fingers that are poised and made for piano. it haunts. it sneers.

it grips my throat, chains my ankles so i am unable to move, it hinders me from moving on, it hinders me from expressing who i am.

this soul is afraid of its flesh.

[oejrowjdwodjp]

this is so lovely and breathtaking, i have been staring at it for the past few minutes and the expression is everything to me

𝒦𝒶𝑒𝓎𝒶'𝓈 𝓂𝑜𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓁𝑒

Redraw of this [x]

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//love & the sun// E.E. Cummings (unlove’s the heavenless hell and homeless home) / Hozier (Sunlight) / Madeline Miller (The Song of Achilles) / Jandy Nelson (I’ll Give You the Sun) / Yves Olade (When Rome Falls) / Movements (Daylily) / David Viscott