wannafeelnew

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J. D. Salinger, “Zooey.” Franny and Zooey

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Sayat Nova, from Anthology of Armenian Poetry, ed. & tr. by Diana Der Hovanessian and Marzbed Margossian; "I traveled the world"

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— Rudy Francisco

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“I could not stop wasting time. It was crazy. I wanted to do something with my life, but instead I went to sleep, or sung in the shower, or sat and stared at the wall. I couldn’t even tell you about anything that I saw. I didn’t talk to anybody. The cicadas kept dying outside, and as I dreamed, my mouth grew thick and venomous with silence.”

— Yiwei Chai, The Jacaranda Years .

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we all talk about the intimacy of eye contact but do you ever think about the intimacy of looking at someone's eyes while they're looking at something else-either because they're distracted or they're deliberately allowing you to have this moment to yourself or they know that it'll be too much to look back at you directly-and if so does it ever just make you go full crazy

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Alejandro Zambra, Ways of Going Home (translated by Megan McDowell)

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The room will explode when I sit at the side of your bed and you talk to me. I don’t hear your words: your voice reverberates against my body like another kind of caress, another kind of penetration. I have no power over your voice. It comes straight from you into me. I could stuff my ears and it would find its way into my blood and make it rise.

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what are ur fave poems of all-time?

hi 💌 here are some:

“Hanging Fire” by Audre Lorde

“Tired” by Langston Hughes

“Having a Coke with You” by Frank O'Hara

“Love After Love” by Derek Walcott

“Mayakovsky” by Frank O'Hara

“i like my body when it is with your” by E. E. Cummings

“New Year's Eve Prayer” by Jeff Buckley

“Rain” by Roberto Bolaño

“Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver

“Spring Torrents” by Sara Teasdale

“Tulips” by Sylvia Plath 

“A great Hope fell” by Emily Dickinson

“Poem” by Langston Hughes

“Sometimes I Pretend” by Naomi Shihab Nye

“What Was Once the Largest Shopping Center in Northern Ohio Was Built Where There Had Been a Pond I Used to Visit Every Summer Afternoon” by Mary Oliver

“Summer Morning” by Mary Oliver

“You Are Tired (I Think)” by E. E. Cummings

“Sifter” by Naomi Shihab Nye

“Emergency Management” by Camille Rankine

“Thanksgiving 2006” by Ocean Vuong

“Litany” by Langston Hughes

“Suicide in the Trenches” by Siegfried Sassoon

“I heard a Fly buzz - when I died” by Emily Dickinson

“Warning” by Jenny Joseph

“[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]” by E. E. Cummings

“Love Sorrow” by Mary Oliver

“Conversations About Home (at the Deportation Centre)” by Warsan Shire

“Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out” by Richard Siken

“Limited but Fertile Possibilities Are Offered by This Brochure” by Marge Piercy

“The Thing Is” by Ellen Bass

“Mad Girl's Love Song” by  Sylvia Plath

“The Century’s Decline” by Wislawa Szymborska

“A Primer For The Small Weird Loves” by Richard Siken

“Unpainted Door” by Louise Glück

“Spring has come back again” by Rainer Maria Rilke

“Homesickness” by Marina Tsvetaeva

“Don't Hesitate” by Mary Oliver

“There's a certain Slant of light” by Emily Dickinson

“Poem for Haruko” by June Jordan

“To Be Human Is to Sing Your Own Song” by Mary Oliver

“Toward a City That Sings” by June Jordan

“Edward the Confessor” by Eileen Myles (under the cut because I couldn't find it online)

Edward the Confessor by Eileen Myles

I have a confession to make I wish there were some role in society I could fulfill I could be a confessor I have a confession to make I have this way when I step into the bakery on 2nd Ave. of wanting to be the only really nice person in the store so the harried sales woman with several toned hair will like me. I do this in all kinds of stores, coffee shops xerox shops, everywhere I go. And invariably I leave my keys, xeroxing, my coffee from the last place I am being so nice. I try so hard to make a great impression on these neutral strangers right down to the perfect warm smile I get entirely lost and stagger back out onto the street, bereft of something major. It’s really leaning too hard on the everyday. My mother was the kind of woman who dragging us into stores always seemed to charm the pants off the cashier. She was such a great person, so human though at home she was such a bitch, I mean really distant. I imitate her and I don’t do it well. She didn’t leave her wallet or us in a store. I’m just a pale imitation it is simply not my style to open the hearts of strangers to my true personhood. I hope you accept this tiny confession of what I am currently going through. And if you are experiencing something of a similar nature tell someone, not me, but tell someone. It’s the new human program to be in. It would be nice for at least these final moments if we could sigh with the relief of being in the same program with all the other humans whispering in school. I can’t quite locate the terror, but I am trying to be my mother or Edward the Confessor smiling down on you with up-praying hands. I am looking down at the tips of my boots as I step across the balcony of the church excited to be allowed to say these things. Outside my church is a relationship. On 11th street this guy and this woman are selling the woman so they can get more dope. All their things are there, rags and loaves of bread and make-up. And there was— this was incredible. Two men lying by the door of the church giving each other blow-jobs. They were sort of street guys, one black one white. I said hey you can’t do that here. They jumped up, one spit come out of his mouth. If you don’t get out of here I’ll call the cops. Don’t call the cops we’ll go, we’ll leave. That was a shock. That was more than I expected to see in a day. Something about seeing the guy spit come out of his mouth. He didn’t have to do that. I guess I scared him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was scared too.

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Hand kissing is sacred, high romance and I think we need to revive it

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Leila Chatti, from “Tea”

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“I swear I only want to hear about you, to know what you’ve been doing. It’s a hundred years since we’ve met- it may be another hundred years before we meet again.”

— Edith Wharton / The Age of Innocence

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Danez Smith, Don't Call Us Dead

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“There was nothing to talk about anymore. The only thing to do was go.”

— Jack Kerouac; On The Road

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Trista Mateer, from "Aphrodite Made Me Do It," originally published in 2019

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I’ve spent so much time in my head and in my heart that I forgot to live in my body.

Tara Hardy

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Czeslaw Milosz, New and Collected Poems: 1931-2001

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“It’s important in life to conclude things properly. Only then can you let go. Otherwise you are left with words you should have said but never did, and your heart is heavy with remorse.” - Yann Martel, Life of Pi