the world is heavy
but your bones
(just a cubic inch)
can hold 19,000 lbs
ounce for ounce
they are stronger than steel
atom for atom
you are more precious than diamond
and stars have died
so that you may live
you need to remember these things
when you say that you are weak
I was never insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched. —Edgar Allen Poe (via k-ela-ino
Being…a woman is an awful tragedy. Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, bar room regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording—all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yet, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night. —Sylvia Plath (via cowardofconscience
You are meant to fight.
When you are sick, your body fights for its right to function. When you hold your breath, your body fights for its right to breathe. There are billions of tiny events—from the surface of your skin, down to the very cells of your body—that have to happen in order for you to be simply sitting here today. If your most minuscule parts haven’t given up yet,
Why should you? —n.t.
There is in every one of us, even those who seem to be most moderate, a type of desire that is terrible, wild, and lawless. —Plato, The Republic
My lecture is called “What Makes a Poem a Poem?” I’m going to set my timer.
It’s not rhyming words at the end of a line. It’s not form. It’s not structure. It’s not loneliness. It’s not location. It’s not the sky. It’s not love. It’s not the color. It’s not the feeling. It’s not the meter. It’s not the place. It’s not the intention. It’s not the desire. It’s not the weather. It’s not the hope. It’s not the subject matter. It’s not the death. It’s not the birth. It’s not the trees. It’s not the words. It’s not the things between the words. It’s not the meter-…
It’s the timing.
—Charles Bernstein, Professor of English, University of Pennsylvania, “What Makes a Poem a Poem?” (via punch-in-the-face-poetry
have you considered that maybe i am not pleasant?
maybe i wear lipstick so that
you will see my pretty pink mouth
wrapping around a coffee cup lid
and be distracted enough not to notice
that i am intelligent and powerful;
maybe i draw my brows into high arches
so you will look at my unimpressed skepticism
and overlook my spiteful glare
as a trick of my silly, girlish routine.
maybe i wear my heels so high and thin
so that i grasp your attention with the sway of my hips
as i listen to the click-clack-click against the floor
and know that if you should try to overpower me
i walk on sharpened knives.
maybe when i laugh at your worthless jokes
i am really baring my fangs
waiting patiently for the day
that i sink them into your neck.
i am not made of porcelain pleasantries;
you will find that these things are my armor
to keep you at a distance
so you do not step on me and shatter
my fragile control.
i am not a husk — i am not wilting.
i am turning my head
so that the fire blazing through my eyes
does not catch on the accelerant of your sweaty palms
and burn your bones to dust.
i am not your pretty girl;
i am a fury, a faerie, a phoenix —
a forest of werewolves and wendigos
that will carve out your chest
so that the next time i paint my pretty pink lips
i will taste the copper tang of your dying breaths. —R.K.
, I Am The Wolf Only Barely Contained (via bluecheeseandchilipeppers
➸ gets into a cab only to find someone else already inside AU
➸ out walking their dog who starts chasing after the other person’s dog AU
➸ cat/dog runs away and other person finds it AU
➸ mistaken identity AU
➸ pen pals AU
➸ sit next to each other in orchestra AU
➸ partners in (literal) crime AU (theft? fraud? hacking? murder?)
➸ partners in dance class AU
➸ trapped on a deserted island together AU
➸ wizard AU where one accidentally apparates into the wrong house
➸ protester and police officer AU
➸ lab partners AU
➸ new neighbors AU
➸ one’s blind and falls in love with the other’s voice AU
➸ hair stylist/make up artist and actor/model AU
➸ bffs when they were little but one moved away and they run into each other again AU
➸ mailman(/woman) and person who receives a lot of mail AU
➸ private detective and client AU
➸ archaeologist AU
➸ paramedic AU
➸ runaway royalty and confused commoner AU
➸ android and human AU
➸ ghosts in love AU
➸ go to the same support group AU
➸ just keep running into each other everywhere AU
➸ orchestra player/pianist and concertgoer AU
➸ younger siblings are best friends AU
➸ photographer and model AU
➸ writer and editor AU
➸ immortal and non-immortal AU
➸ screenwriter and director AU
➸ greek god and roman counterpart AU
➸ ALL OF THE AUS
Forget stardust—you are iron. Your blood is nothing but ferrous liquid. When you bleed, you reek of rust. It is iron that fills your heart and sits in your veins. And what is iron, really, unless it’s forged?
You are iron. And you are strong. —n.t.
I want to be
I want you
to think about kissing
as much as I
you. —Alena M. (via h-o-r-n-g-r-y
I’m in love with you. Yeah, it’s that bad. You’re so beautiful to me. Shut up, let me tell you, let me. Every time I look at your face, or even remember it, it wrecks me. And the way you are with me, and you’re just fun and you shit all over me and you make fun of me and you’re real. I don’t have enough time in any day, to think about you enough. I feel like I’m gonna live a thousand years cause that’s how long it’s gonna take me to have one thought about you, which is that I’m crazy about you. I don’t wanna be with anybody else. I don’t. I really don’t. I don’t think about women anymore. I think about you. I had a dream the other night that you and I were on a train. We were on this train and you were holding my hand. That’s the whole dream, you were holding my hand and I felt you holding my hand. I woke up and I couldn’t believe it wasn’t real. —Louis C. K. (via michellewilliamss
No, I’m not ok. But I haven’t been ok since I was 11, maybe 12. I am still here though.
I’m still breathing. For me, sometimes, that will have to be enough —Clementine Von Radics (via artistsuffer
What To Do When Your Boyfriend’s Asshole Best Friend Says, “Hey, Never Trust Anything That Bleeds For Seven Days And Doesn’t Die,
OR The Only Poem I’ll Ever Write About Periods.
Don’t excuse him because he’s had
at least three lite beers
and is sweating through his black button down
that his mom or exgirlfriend
probably bought him.
Don’t excuse him because he’s been turned down
by the last six girls he went on dates with
after meeting them on tindr
with a picture that’s seven years old
Don’t excuse him because
he’s usually such a nice guy
because you don’t want to be a bitch
because you don’t want to cause a scene
because when you were seventeen
your sister told you
no one likes an angry feminist
Let me explain something to you.
Every goddamn motherfucking month since I was eleven,
a part of me
tore itself to shreds
ripped itself apart inside me
and then remade itself.
So yes, I bleed for seven days
and I don’t die
You know what else can do that?
Things of legend.
Fuck, I can even
So I say, never trust anything that can’t
bleed for seven days and not die.
You know what that makes it?
So let’s see, hon,
What you’re made of.
If you can bleed for seven days
and not die.
Rip out his jugular with your teeth.
And when he bleeds for seven seconds
spit on his corpse and say,
I thought not.
—Katherine Tucker (via alchemy