Commonplaces @a-trifling-commonplace - Tumblr Blog

Jackie Sabbagh

WHERE is that poem about that person learning all about their partners hyperfixation before getting dumped the last line is like "love is a stack of books on my nightstand with a bookmark near the end" I need it to feel whole help me please

cielosky

NYT Tiny Love Stories, 2/11/2020

A Bookmark Near the End

He loves history. He wanted to write a biography of John Quincy Adams. I, shamefully, knew almost nothing about John Quincy Adams, so I went online and bought every biography of him I could find. One day, he called me, claiming that we wouldn’t work out long term. He said he loved me but that we had different interests. “What does love mean to you?” I said. “That’s an impossible question,” he replied. I, however, find love to be quite simple. Love is the stack of biographies on my nightstand with a bookmark near the end. — Julia Nicole Camp

zephyr-of-death

how am I supposed to stay sane after reading this smh

thisisalovestry

file -> phrases that are going to shift something in me forever

insomniparty

paper-wounds

“If I Am Killed For Simply Living” — Althea Davis

lizormianillustration

whatever was left, that was ours for a while.

sunrise - louise glück

LizzieOrmian.redbubble.com

rainformation

formative years? aren’t they all?

absolutejamer

show me a permanent self and i will show you a facade or a corpse

loveridden1999

top 3 hobbies for young adults:

1. borrowing misery from future

2. carrying grief of the past

3. agonizing over the present

imissthembutitwasntadisaster

Alright tell me in the tags, what’s Your Poem? That poem you heard once and it has dwelt within you ever since?

estel-system

werewolfmack

#you can argue about whether or not it’s a poem#but the scrapped presidential speech in the event of a failed moon landing#it haunts me in ways little writing ever has

weltenwellen

yea

evergreen-femme

im just so happy i live in a time period where actual meaningful biological transition is possible. even if we lose rights or the ability to exist in public, nothing can turn back the clock on that, and just by having any sort of access to that our lives are made immensely better. millions of our sisters throughout history would never have dreamed of a day where they could have what HRT does for us.

please don't lose the plot of this. if you're a trans person on HRT you're a living miracle, the dream of hundreds of millions of your ancestors. your lives are all deeply meaningful no matter what anyone says.

t4t4t

A prayer by Kalonymus b. Kalonymus ben Meir that appears in his poem ספר אבן בוחן, יג Sefer Even Boḥan (§13), describing the author's wish t

unabashedllamamusic

Cursed be the one who announced to my father: “It’s a boy!"... ...How could he twist the course of the stars so much? How could he have erred so in his astrology? A lying tongue, a fool’s mouth it had given him For he foolishly transformed justice to poison He altered the law and transposed the lines

Oh, but had the artisan who made me created me instead – a worthy woman... ...I would say "how lucky am I"

Father in heaven who did miracles for our ancestors with fire and water... ...Who would then transform me from a man to woman? Were I only to have merited this being so graced by goodness...

What shall I say? why cry or be bitter? If my father in heaven has decreed upon me and has maimed me with an immutable deformity then I do not wish to remove it. the sorrow of the impossible is a human pain that nothing will cure and for which no comfort can be found. So, I will bear and suffer until I die and wither in the ground. Since I have learned from our tradition that we bless both, the good and the bitter I will bless in a voice hushed and weak: blessed are you [HaShem] who has not made me a woman.

I think I'm gonna go lay down for a little while.

waiataaroha-deactivated20200524

argonauticae

none of this is going in my dissertation but

homoquartz

i’ve warmed up significantly towards the concept of small talk ever since i learned that its sole purpose is to make friendly noises.

as long as you smile and nod, people are satisfied. it’s just to show that you are nice and there with good intentions. we’re small in a big world and have to rely on other people to be decent to us. so we do our little human dance to each other to say, “i’m not here to hurt you. here’s something we have in common, like the weather or sports or itchy sweaters, so we both know we’re on the same team. we both agree on a basic fact, like that it is rainy or that being itchy is uncomfortable, and this proves we can get along. i’m being light-hearted and non-threatening right now.”

small talk isn’t to get to know a person. it’s just a greeting to affirm you’re buddies in the universe.

i am motivated by wanting the other person to know i am friendly, so i have gotten pretty decent at small talk when i used to hate it.

piratedgender

themisally

east-of-nowhere

“Home is where the trees look normal” is the sweetest, saddest, most nostalgic truth I’ve ever heard.

legendof

sailermoon

james baldwin was so right when he said “the children are always ours, every single one of them, all over the globe; and I am beginning to suspect that whoever is incapable of recognizing this may be incapable of morality.”

canthaveshitingotham-crucified

i hate it when i cant even write a poem about something because its too obvious. like in the airbnb i was at i guess it used to be a kids room cause you could see the imprint of one little glow in the dark star that had been missed and painted over in landlord white. like that's a poem already what's the point

canthaveshitingotham-crucified

you get it. you get the themes. i dont have time to do it justice. just look at it its on the ceiling