You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together
to make a creature that will do what I say
or love me back.
Richard Siken, excerpt of Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out (via camilla-macauley)
Tag: poetry
I realize after his touch
he would know meyears from now, even
in the dark, evenwithout my skin.
Phil Memmer, “The Paleontologist’s Blind Date,” from Threat of Pleasure. (via vapourise)
I can’t un-know the monsters
but I can become the person
who would have saved
thirteen-year-old me.
3/365, wesley king (via mugworts)
dean, dean, dean…
Where did you get those big eyes?
My mother.
And where did you get those lips?
My mother.
And the loneliness?
My mother.
And that broken heart?
My mother.
And the absence, where did you get that?
My father.
Inheritance, Warsan Shire (via prideinthepanther)
I don’t pay attention to the
world ending.
It has ended for me
many times
and began again in the morning.
Nayyirah Waheed
Don’t you dare, for one minute,
believe that my kindness makes me
anything but insurmountable.
I did not unzip my chest to every kind of hurt,
and stagger back, wounded and alive,
just to hear you call me weak for trying.
Ashe Vernon (aka latenightcornerstore), from her poem, Softness, in Words Dance 16.
Before I am your daughter,
your sister,
your aunt, niece, or cousin,
I am my own person,
and I will not set fire to myself
to keep you warm.
(via ehmrahld)
And it has been
one hell
of a year.
I have worn
the seasons
under my sleeves,
on my thighs,
running down my cheeks.
This is what
surviving
looks like, my dear.
Michelle K., It Has Been One Hell of a Year (via ameliespoulain)
darknesstohislight 