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rachelmercer

When to Close Your Eyes

My sins

How do you want me?

In the third circle

Or on your phone screen with the brightness

rolled back

Much like what you pointed out to me at P.E. as my shirt squeezed

And constricted my belly

So shrunken and snug

This day I went home and hugged the toilet

And in the comfort of your bedroom

You dragged it out

Just as I did on linoleum tiles

Is this how you want me?

#this is about fat fetishsizing and how it does absolutely nothing to emd fatphobia

The is the house that built me and I'm gonna open all the windows during a hurricane. The is the ocean I drowned in, choked on spit spewing from mouths. Im trying to convince the water to carry me to shore. And thank you to the mothers who raised me out of it and fuck the one who who didnt. And thank you to the daughters and fuck you to the sons. And thank you to the white knuckled fists for fucking me up and making me creative. What is a home if not a place to feel like a stranger in? I've bitten the hand that feeds me because that hand has done worse. Its attached to the person who birthed me ugly and angry, making me a mirror image of what I perceive monsters as.

#inspored by other stuff #writing #poetry #nit that good in the beginning but better toward the end i think

robotomono

“This is the house that built me and I’m gonna burn it down. This is the river I crawled from and I refuse to drown here. And bless the strippers but fuck the men. And bless the berries but fuck the farm. And bless the daughter but fuck the family. What is a home if not the first place you learn to run from? You’ve got to bite the hand that starves you, and in doing so Praise the place that birthed you. Birthed you fucked up. Birthed you ugly, and interesting, and ready to scream.”

— Courtney Love Prays To Oregon, Clementine von Radics (via clementinevonradics)

#wrote somwthing inspored by this

darlingvirginia

Emily Dickinson to Susan Huntington Dickinson, 1852 // Virginia Woolf to Vita Sackville-West, 1927

I'm biting the hand that has fed me because it has not fed my brothers and sisters.

I can see the darkness spread beneath their ribs, spewing out in spat sentences, litered with indifference to death.

Are we to mark another grave with a whiskey jug? Are we to lick the scraps off the floor and beg at the hooves of a white skinned swine?

He was just a boy.

She was just a woman.

They were just men.

#acab acab acab acab #1312 #writing #poetry

jackandniall-deactivated2021100

here’s the link to donate to george floyd’s official memorial fund if you are able to contribute. if you can’t donate, please share. being black shouldn’t be a death sentence.

xieliian

cair--paravel

Roses Farm, a cottage dating back to around 1285 (via).

theres an overwhelming comfort i get from being known by you. thats why i get so quiet sometimes when you say my name a lot, because im distracted by the warmth behind my eyes. im so happy i get to witness you and have my hands touch your back when we hug. i love you so much

#writing #poetry #dark acadamia aesthetic #? maybe #im tryna get into that #lesbian poetry #love suggestion

i hate talking to people i have to dissolve into my other selves with. as i currently write this i am becoming a liquid. a diluted sour battery acid, sometimes a sweet vinegar, or maybe a metallic briny juice.

im forgetting what my honest form is.

i dont remember if i like pink or purple. i dont remember if im kind or evil. i dont remember if im an acid or a juice

#writing #poetry #?#words

i want to know how blackness spreads underneath their eyes and ribs, seeping out in spat sentences-- im swallowing a bitter pill at the dinner table for my meal

im burning holes through the glass we eat on and im bathing in that darkness now.

tonight i will sit in the stand up shower

#this how my family holidays went #writing