moonshine

[weltenwellen]

“Bewildered, burning with love, mad with sadness,”

— Arthur Rimbaud, from Selected Poems & Prose; “The Impossible,”

[lifeinpoetry]

I want to tremble, soften, convince myself  a better day is coming.

— Liz Worth, from “New math,” The Truth Is Told Better This Way

[luthienne]

“A dream ago, perhaps.”

— Denise Levertov, from To Stay Alive; “What Were They Like?”

[aimaneer]

i stopped thinking of myself as a flower. 

i used to believe that that was the prettiest imagery -- so small, and always so delicate. but i since learned that flowers just die. they wilt, and unless they’re planted in soil, unmoving, will they come back next spring.

i didn’t want to wait until spring. 

so now i’m something else completely. i don’t have any metaphors this time.

sometimes i miss being someone’s little lilac. but most days i just like being myself. wilting one too many times has taught me that. 

[i124you]

when fiona apple said “im such an incredibly, stupidly sensitive person that everything that happens to me, i experience it really intensely. i feel everything very deeply. and when you feel things deeply and you think about things a lot and you think about how you feel, you learn a lot about yourself. and when you know yourself, you know life.”……… she knew.. she was right

[thelovejournals]

You kiss me with your mouth wide open like you’re not afraid of swallowing poison. I taste the good and bad in you and want them both. We call this bravery.

Anita Ofokansi, Literary Sexts  (via wordsnquotes)

[lifeinpoetry]

i talk to god whenever i touch myself turn a cavern into a cathedral & then burn it to the ground. who’s to say what is holy? i talk to god when i tell you to fuck me so good i forget my own name. years later, i am still haunting the margins of your memory. still in bloom. open wide–now you, too are blooming.

Ally Ang, from “Teaching a Muthafucka How to Talk to God,” published in the Shade Journal (via lifeinpoetry)

[hellanne]

how intricately love crosses love; love makes knots; love brutally tears them apart. I have been knotted; I have been torn apart.

Virginia Woolf, The Waves (via hellanne)

[mortalpractice]

Everyone loves a dead girl. Everyone drools when the virgin falls into the gnarled jaws of the earth – red mouth cut slack, eyes empty. Everyone wants a broken-glass girl, bought second hand. Look. The damage was already there.

—Franny Choi, from “Bird Watching,” Floating, Brilliant, Gone

[prcserpina]

mmxvii: july // t.e.

[vanish]

[wnq-writers]

stay one more night. i want to learn how you speak the language of light.

poetofblues (via wnq-writers)

[dale-algo]

@reenamia shot by @daleknows

#shotbydale

[aimaneer]

radiating energy at 5:14 am // by the forever wonderful @daleknows (at Long Beach, New York)

[rbcages]

You are not the people who cannot love you. You are not the people who left after you dug up your soul and laid it into their palms because you thought everyone was gentle hands and soft clutches. You are not the faulty pieces you discover lying under your skin while trying to put yourself back together. You were all teeth where he turned you docile, where he turned you into bleeding gums that only know apologies. Knock on your bones and feel your entire body shake with the aftermath because you are walking earthquakes and his words cannot tame you. Open your lips wide when you smile and show him you have swallowed the sun. You have swallowed the sun and he cannot touch you without burning.

You are not the people who cannot love you. by r.b (via rbcages)

[2wentysixletters]

i eat spring and make a wish  / is it too much to want to change to want to shed skin? /  to start again — peeled and naked and hopeful

[luthienne]

La grande mitezza degli occhi.

The immense mildness of her eyes.

— Giuseppe Ungaretti, from Silenzio in Liguria (tr. Andrew Frisardi)