[thehoneykush]

[a-state-of-bliss]

Vogue UK Sept 2018 - Anok Yai by Mert & Marcus

[lifeinpoetry]

“once / i haunted the house myself”

— Hannah Waldman, from “carving the staircase,” published in Homology Lit

[kakfa]

the contents page of Pictures & Tears: A History of People Who Have Cried in Front of Paintings by James Elkins

[thegreatinthesmall-deactivated2]

WEISSTUB

[comradeorangutan]

Tierra Whack ph. Petra Collins mua: Marcelo Gutierrez

[sulfade]

jean paul gaultier spring 2007 couture

[histerismo]

[beefstrugglenoff]

Bagworm Moth caterpillars collect little twigs and cut them off to construct elaborate tiny log houses to live in (photos: Melvyn Yeo, Nick Bay)

[vegannerdgirl]

I had to look this up because i thought there was no way these little faerie cabin-building caterpillars were real

Theyre magical

[airvvave]

Backwards by Warsan Shire

The poem can start with him walking backwards into a room. He takes off his jacket and sits down for the rest of his life; that’s how we bring Dad back. I can make the blood run back up my nose, ants rushing into a hole. We grow into smaller bodies, my breasts disappear, your cheeks soften, teeth sink back into gums. I can make us loved, just say the word. Give them stumps for hands if even once they touched us without consent, I can write the poem and make it disappear. Step-Dad spits liquor back into glass, Mum’s body rolls back up the stairs, the bone pops back into place, maybe she keeps the baby. Maybe we’re okay kid? I’ll rewrite this whole life and this time there’ll be so much love, you won’t be able to see beyond it. You won’t be able to see beyond it, I’ll rewrite this whole life and this time there’ll be so much love. Maybe we’re okay kid, maybe she keeps the baby. Mum’s body rolls back up the stairs, the bone pops back into place, Step-Dad spits liquor back into glass. I can write the poem and make it disappear, give them stumps for hands if even once they touched us without consent, I can make us loved, just say the word. Your cheeks soften, teeth sink back into gums we grow into smaller bodies, my breasts disappear. I can make the blood run back up my nose, ants rushing into a hole, that’s how we bring Dad back. He takes off his jacket and sits down for the rest of his life. The poem can start with him walking backwards into a room.

[infpisme]

I am a lover without a lover. I am lovely and lonely and I belong deeply to myself.

Warsan Shire

[nobrashfestivity]

Salvador Dali, Manhattan, 1964

Etching from the New York City series done in 1964 from Dali’s hotel

[mossbug]

[mvxxi]

[gacougnol]

Raul Diaz Polaroids

[lifeinpoetry]

Transcribing a codex for the dissolution of self

as I sit on your face, calling for

the end of the world.

— Tatiana Luboviski-Acosta, from The Easy Body

[sandandglass]