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joanna klink

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Omg she is amazing. She fucking gets it. @clementinevonradics I need need all her books. #clementinevonradics #poetry #realness #hitshardaf

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Anne Boyer, A Sonnet from the Archive of Love's Failures, Volumes 1-3.5 Million

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— benita rosalind, i hold a wolf by the ears

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Maybe I'm just tired

But I've been tired from the beginning of the year

Maybe it's just the weather

But the sun keeps its apathetic glare

Maybe it's just me

It always comes back to that in the end

The lack of sleep

And the inability to get the smile past my teeth

Maybe it's chemistry

Maybe a lack of dopamine

Or my optimism that went missing

I'm tired of keeping my head up

I'm tired of trying to be everything

I stare at the things that should make me happy

And I can't feel a thing

Maybe I'm just tired

Maybe I'm just empty

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“Your handwriting. The way you walk. Which china pattern you choose. It’s all giving you away. Everything you do shows your hand. Everything is a self portrait. Everything is a diary.”

— Chuck Palahniuk

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— Franny Choi, in “Perihelion: A History of Touch”

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Franny Choi, "TURING TEST_PROBLEM SOLVING" from Soft Science

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"It Breaks" Marge Piercy

You hand me a cup of water; I drink it and thank you pretending what I take into me so calmly could not kill me. We take food from strangers, from restaurants behind whose swinging doors flies swarm and settle, from estranged lovers who dream over the salad plates of breaking the bones of our backs.

Trust flits through the apple blossoms, a tiny spring warbler in bright mating plumage. Trust relies on learned partern and signal to let us walk down stairs without thinking each step, without stumbling.

I take parts of your body inside me. I give you the flimsy black lace and sweat stained sleaze of my secrets. I lay my sleeping body naked at your side. Jump, you shout. I do and you catch me.

In love we open wide as a house to a summer afternoon, every shade up and window cranked open and doors flung back to the probing breeze. If we love long, we stand like row houses with no outer walls.

Suddenly we are naked. The plaster of bedrooms hangs exposed, wallpaper pink and beige skins of broken intimacy, torn and flapping.

To fear you is fearing my left hand cut off. The lineaments of old desire remain, but the gestures are new and harsh. Words unheard before are spat out grating with the rush of loosed anger.

Friends bear banner headlines of your rewriting of our common past. I wonder at my own trust how absolute it was, part of me like the bones of my pelvis. You were the true center of my cycles, the magnetic north I used to plot my wanderings.

It is not that I will not love again or give myself into partnership or lie naked sweating secrets like nectar, but I will never share a joint checking account and when some lover tells me, Always, baby, I'll be thinking, sure, until this one too meets an heiress and ships out. After a bone breaks you can see in X-rays the healing and the damage.

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With every choice you made, you took responsibility. That it was irreversible, irretrievable, that it would screw tight the lid, prohibit the path to more choices. That out of all those liberating, mesmerizing options you could choose something bony, fetid, barren. And with that decision, you would have inflicted unhappiness (tragedy, even!) with your very own hand.

Irina Reyn, from What Happened to Anna K.

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"It means - someone who takes a stance against something, but then goes on to do that exact thing. Kind of like having your cake and eating it, I guess. Another way of calling someone a hypocrite."

LONGLEGS x MABEL Episode Four: Datura

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But silence has never stopped me from praying. Alive, how many nights did I spend knelt between the knees of gods and men begging for rain, rent, and reasons to remain?

— Saeed Jones, from "A Memory," Alive at the End of the World