committed to nothing.

"And you’ll remain a secret within my chest that only my heart knows of."

[inkskinned]

where are you? where is your heart?

[pigmenting]

When you have nothing to say, the sadness of things speaks for you.

Ruth Stone, from “Interim” in What Love Comes To  (via evadethevoid)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

​“Why there’s still all this space inside me I don’t know.”

— Wislawa Szymborska, from Poems: New & Collected; “A Large Number”

[endless-unfolding]

How fragile we are, between the few good moments.

Jane Hirshfield, from “Vinegar and Oil,” in Come, Thief  (via evadethevoid)

[minnjenn-blog]

…But who were you kidding? You took him in with no grand dreams of salvation, but only to ease the guilt of never having tried…“

from How to Go to Dinner with a Brother on Drugs, Natalie Diaz, in When My Brother Was an Aztec (2012)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Because then, the way I felt was feelingless.

Brenda Shaughnessy, from Our Andromeda; “All Possible Pain” (via evadethevoid)

[24kblk]

touki bouki by djibril diop mambéty, ‘73.

[lifeinpoetry]

The poem is a space and it hurts.

Alejandra Pizarnik, from “[…] of the Silence,” Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962 - 1972 (via evadethevoid)

[nemophilies-deactivated20190428]

Silence is inside the word as something to be read.

Edmond Jabès, From the Book to the Book (via nemophilies)

[theloupgaroux]

The truth is: Love is an organic thing. It rots and softens.

Clementine von Radics, All That’s Left To Tell (via theloupgaroux)

[lifeinpoetry]

Lies I’ve Told

That feels good I’m not that hungry It’s okay She seems nice You should I can I love you I’m sorry I’m fine You’re funny I’m leaving I don’t mind pickles I didn’t notice It will work out I hate you

— Sara Sutterlin, from I Wanted to Be the Knife [Extended Edition]

[timotaychalamet]

[lovedbyapollon]

I used to say I’d know you anywhere, but it’s getting harder.

Margaret Atwood, “Shapechangers in Winter” from Morning in the Burned House (via 7-weeks)

[visual-poetry]

[melisica]

[thatsyourgold]

We are all afraid of leaving what has already left, of walking out, of never locking the door behind us.

Caitlyn Siehl, The Fear (via 7-weeks)

[lifeinpoetry]

Memory / is another name for ghosts and their awful hunger.

Eugene Gloria, from “Apple,” My Favorite Warlord (via 7-weeks)