#poetry school

[thedeadpoets-blog]

late night studying in october 🍂☕️🎃📚

[luciferslilith7]

Hey! (with the intention of taking you on a library date)

Picture Credit ~📍pinterest

@luciferslilith7

[dumblr]

“Give me fresh flowers and an old love.”

— Kavya Dixit

[joytri]

everything starts with a dream

[petiteappetite]

rediscovery of self

[frosted-woods]

autumn time to be gay and totally fine and not miserable at all

[missworrld]

[reallybadblackoutpoems]

a self-esteem guidebook: learning to embrace your imperfect self (1992) - kenneth a. beavers

"exploding you with my mind"

[jstor]

The World wasn’t a Christmas magazine. Edited by Anne Waldman for the first decade of its life and published by The Poetry Project at St. Marks Church In-the-Bowery in New York from 1967 to 2002, it included work by hundreds of writers within, adjacent to, and succeeding the New York School.

Some of the best-known writers of these generations published in The World, and some of them, it turns out, wrote on the topic of Christmas.

Make yourself a mug of hot chocolate, sit yourself within range of a Christmas tree, and enjoy the latest JSTOR Daily article on The World's Christmas poems. Happy holidays, and happy reading!

Image: From the cover of Issue 9 of The World, December 1967, via JSTOR.

[icarus-daedaluss]

Pov : U joined Slytherin 📗🐍💚

[inkprilled]

Just before covid hit my brother and I at 15 and 19 found our selfs homeless. I had a choice, my brother would go into care or we could stay together, but only if I took responsibility for him and had somewhere to live. So I applyed for social housing, the guy that processed my case was sympathetic and at some points I was holding it together better than him, do you have any other family? No, Do you know where your mother is? I wish I did, how old is your brother? 15 are you in any fulltime education? Not anymore. He looked at me like I was something tragic and I suppose I was, there isn't a metaphor for what I looked like that works any better than just what his naked eyes saw; a girl abandoned by her mother, her life in a bag on her back completely thrown on how to deal with everything, and all he could do was fill out a form and send it and me off. it's going to be okay.

Somehow despite the odds we where given emergency accommodation and a year later a property to rent, I suspect we where pushed up the list because of my brothers age, we where lucky, some people wait years in hotels or streets all over the country, living out of suitcases and rucksacks.

As lucky as we where, luck didn't cover all the things I suddenly had to know. I had no idea how bills worked or paying my taxes, I didn't even really understand what "taxes" meant until the final notices where piling up in front of us. It's something they don't teach you in school or at least mine didn't. They never taught us how to survive in a world like this, they assume our parents would be there to explain or we'd be much older before it mattered. what's more useful in real life, how to formally address someone in an email or how to keep the lights on or how to find food when a tin of beans is too expensive.

Though I suppose the email ettique lesson was useful for something in the end,

To whomever it may concern, I'm writing to you regarding my payment plans and how I'm choosing to fork over alot of money and won't be buying enough food to live off this month. My regards.

[thedeadpoets-blog]

oh september, how you have my heart.

[inky-sun]

[vintage-tigre]

[luciferslilith7]

Oh! To be loved by a poet...

Picture Credit ~📍 pinterest

@luciferslilith7

[marimeeko]

Why do shonens gotta sell me the most intimate queer masterpieces but then say that Boy 1 ends up with Girl 1 and lives happily and very heterosexually ever after, as if these main boys didn't just spend 430 chapters being emotionally entangled and mortally codependent on each other.