Deus ex Machina

[awritersruminations-deactivated]

We must leave evidence. Evidence that we were here, that we existed, that we survived and loved and ached. Evidence of the wholeness we never felt and the immense sense of fullness we gave to each other. Evidence of who we were, who we thought we were, who we never should have been. Evidence for each other that there are other ways to live—past survival; past isolation.

Mia Mingus (via arabellesicardi)

[cullenedward]

― caitlyn siehl

[lifeinpoetry]

The poem carries love and terror, or it carries nothing.

Jane Hirshfield, from “Like an Ant Carrying Her Bits of Leaf or Sand,” Each Happiness Ringed by Lions: Selected Poems (via lifeinpoetry)

[oofpoetry]

A Small Needful Fact

Is that Eric Garner worked for some time for the Parks and Rec. Horticultural Department, which means, perhaps, that with his very large hands, perhaps, in all likelihood, he put gently into the earth some plants which, most likely, some of them, in all likelihood, continue to grow, continue to do what such plants do, like house and feed small and necessary creatures, like being pleasant to touch and smell, like converting sunlight into food, like making it easier for us to breathe.

Ross Gay

[soracities]

my bones are heavy / with the weight / of never having been seen at all.

Natalie Wee, from ‘Either/Or/Other’, Our Bodies & Other Fine Machines (x)

[redportrait]

I sing against your touch like metal when Struck, like the howl of the wind on cliffs. This is a love poem. I think.

from M. McCoy’s UNTITLED, 1969 (via godpoem)

[buttonpoetry]

You want so badly to feel alive. You want so badly to be born again.

Donte Collins - “Grief Puppet” (Button Live)

[lora-mathis]

Lora Mathis 4x6 prints of this available in my shop. All sales (minus printing) going 50/50 to the ACLU Nationwide (American Civil Liberties Union) and CAIR (Council of American-Islamic Relations.) 

[alonesomes]

“And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good.” –John Steinbeck

(I’m bad at this but I gave it a shot)

[lifeinpoetry]

All you want is to run into the woods & beg / the wolf to fuck you up.

Ocean Vuong, from “Anaphora as Coping Mechanism,” Night Sky with Exit Wounds (via lifeinpoetry)

[abandonedloveseries]

[haleyincarnate]

Can say that again.

[lifeinpoetry]

Get out of my song, I’ll grieve when I want.

Alice Notley, from “Eve Love’s Prophecy,” Culture of One (via lifeinpoetry)

[esmesloveandsqualor]

me: develops a sudden but casual interest

hyperfixation: *jaws theme*

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Who am I angry at? Myself.

Sylvia Plath, from a diary entry featured in “The Unabridged Journals,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

…I could hardly continue socializing. My anxiety had awakened. The rest of the evening was merely an evening to suffer through. And while there may be symbolism in everything, there is no peace anywhere.

Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry featured in Trapeze: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1947–1955 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

What of those loving, accepting, understanding voices? Do you hear them? Or do you only hear what hurts?

Ingeborg Bachmann, from a letter to Paul Celan c. July 1952, featured in Correspondence; 1948-1961 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[alonesomes]

What did I do with all the rage he gave me? How much did I eat, did I swallow? What hell did I crawl out of? What did I do with all his flaming tongues? I burned. I burned. I burned. I burned through the sheets until I was clean and new and strange, and the fire never followed me again after that. After my new name, my new face, my new glowing body next to the grave that couldn’t have me.

“Fire,” by Caitlyn Siehl. Published in The Rising Phoenix Review (via alonesomes)