Jane Doe Poetry

For all the Hypotheticals

[paper-wounds]

[saltair-and-webweaves]

I wonder if you wish for a different daughter instead of me. - user jay says on medium/twenty - silas melvin/@/eternaldroplets on twitter/if my body could speak - blythe baird/mother - maia baia/home is not a country; "mama" - safia elhillo/acts of desperation - megan nolan

[54625]

flicking back through my procreate library what the fuck was this

[54625]

authors notes: there is absolutely no one true meaning intended for this piece, but I guess my thoughts while making it were the plain, boring and literal way you talk about the world after seeing something traumatic , or the way things seem to lose all meaning and significance . and also the way you minimise an event to make it sound like it's not so bad , the way you remove detail from the memory.

like .. there is something over the river . there is something unspeakable over the river . when you recount it , you have to make it seem so small . it's just a body. the state the body is in can't be made out like this . you hide the details from yourself to forget how bad it really looked . you hide it in general - so insignificant you could miss it entirely ! it was just a body and The Something that killed it looming , and birds flying away .

and the world could be full of colour , but you can't see it that way any more . the grass is just grass . the trees are just trees . the fish in the river that's just a river are just fish , and that's just a body .

Also SPOILERS for anyone who wants the solution to the eye-spy:

[vacuiterror]

the years pile on but i have not lived

[weltenwellen]

Arielle Hebert, "The Inventors"

[sorryjade]

[arylleth]

i have a longing that's killing me.

mahmoud darwish, memory for forgetfulness

[glowstickhaloboy]

thinking of jesus at the gay bar again………

[heart-sprout]

Do tell

[glowstickhaloboy]

[screamingbingusthecromulentone]

[ID:

a poem by Jay Hulme, titled Jesus at the Gay Bar

He's here in the midst of it - right at the centre of the dance floor, robes hitched up to His knees to make it easy to spin.

At some point in the evening a boy will touch the hem of His robe and beg to be healed, beg to be anything other than this;

and He will reach His arms out, sweat-damp, and weary from dance. He'll cup this boy's face in His hand and say,

my beautiful child there is nothing in this heart of yours that ever needs to be healed.

/end ID]

[metamorphesque]

i'm all the people i've ever loved

loseness lines over time by olivia de recat, @i-wrotethisforme, Kaveh Akbar, Olivie Blake

[oldguardleatherdog]

[dionyrtal]

chaos by holly warburton // shadows don't bid farewell by dion anja from motion sickness

You can buy "Motion Sickness: Poems" now!

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

M.S. (via coffee-crinkled-pages)

[sohelpmegod]

[poetryforall]

-Rumi

[scoobit9]

Hello, you.

[flowerytale]

Helen Oyeyemi, from “White Is for Witching”

[agoraphobe]