and isn’t that what queerness is? to think of someone else’s suffering even while you are suffering, to circumvent their pain even while you slog through yours—
— Ollie Schminkey, from "Reese’s Penis Butter Cups," Dead Dad Jokes
styofa doing anything

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Sade Olutola
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i don't do bad sauce passes
One Nice Bug Per Day
tumblr dot com
todays bird
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

Janaina Medeiros
we're not kids anymore.
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sheepfilms
dirt enthusiast
AnasAbdin

Andulka
d e v o n

Product Placement
YOU ARE THE REASON

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@chromophilic
and isn’t that what queerness is? to think of someone else’s suffering even while you are suffering, to circumvent their pain even while you slog through yours—
— Ollie Schminkey, from "Reese’s Penis Butter Cups," Dead Dad Jokes
Jeremy Radin
POEMS FROM AN EMAIL EXCHANGE by hanif abdurraqib
the women in my family hide / escape routes in their purses / next to their car / keys sign their divorce papers / in blood / walk into rivers their pockets heavy / with shame taught me to always / check for the nearest exit and know
when / to go whether with a suit / case packed and one foot / out the door or limp on the kitchen / floor with my pretty little head in / the oven
— Jessie Lynn McMains, from “exeunt,” 10 Poems By Jessie Lynn McMains
The times when we realized that all the songs they wrote were not for us. Were not love. Were warnings, odes to their own pain. Glorified suicide notes.
— Jessie Lynn McMains, from “Courtney, Love, and the Ones We Couldn’t Save,” 10 Poems By Jessie Lynn McMains
have you ever been
congratulated on your own suicide?
—I have
— Rebecca Kokitus, from “withering,” published in Awkward Mermaid
May your restlessness come at last to rest, constituents Of Midas. I wish you the opposite of what Neruda said Of lemons. May all the gold you touch burn, rot & rust.
— Terrance Hayes, from American Sonnets for My Past and Future Assassin
“The body will always make more room / for grief.”
— Kate Gaskin, from “Poem with a Possible Unidentified Flying Object,” published in Tin House
Your body is a miracle, a kind of wounded desperation, an act of feral girlhood.
— Karese Burrows, from “Cannibal,” This Is How We Lost Each Other
Uncover me. Why should I wear modesty when the world knows of my barefaced love?
— Andal, from “Nacciyar Tirumoli,” tr. Priya Sarukkai Chabria, Andal: The Autobiography of a Goddess
i scrub your fingerprints from my crooks. cut my hair to the scalp. set fire to the things you touched. salt my doorways so you cannot enter. fill in what you dug from me. i forget the burn of your name, walk through you in the street, and you are gauzy and thin like cotton.
— Simone Person, from “this is you doing your best.” published in Menacing Hedge
Something like an absence of feeling, I never had permission to love you never had permission to love anyone you can’t love me the way I deserve to be loved never so, it makes sense
— Jasmine Gibson, from “Love Life,” Don’t Let Them See Me Like This
“My mother always closes her bedroom drapes tight before going to bed at night. I open mine as wide as possible. I like to see everything, I say. What’s there to see? Moon. Air. Sunrise. All that light on your face in the morning. Wakes you up. I like to wake up.”
— Anne Carson; from “The Glass Essay” (via weissewiese)
Warsan Shire, "Conversations About Home" from Teaching My Mother How To Give Birth
Amrita Chakraborty
Paul Eluard, “Dominique Present Today”, Selected Poems (trans. Gilbert Bowen)
[Text ID: “It was from the time I met you that I said yes to the world”]
“…dusk is falling, I love you.”
— Marina Tsvetaeva, in a letter to Rainer Maria Rilke, from Letters Summer 1926: Pasternak, Tsvetaeva, Rilke (via luthienne)