TheVirtuesofFortitude

The Brinksmanship of Womanhood. Potential poet. In love.

[gabriellamaries]

Mental-logical Difficulties

The interrogation of a teenager begins with select phrases “I love you, but—” “young lady—” “While you live under our roof—”

Hacking out hackneyed clichés having lost any wealth of meaning. The expected expertise of a parent

means little to her. She who never knows what she wants— but knows precisely what she doesn’t want.

The implication here: she doesn’t want her inaptitude on display.

Ritalin doesn’t do homework. Methylphenidate. Meth-ill-fen-i-date.

What a malicious turn of events— a ludicrous belief that wealth is some sort of savior.

Dr. Spock knows the pendulum swings on psychopathic wings

Sy-ko-path-ick. Violent social behavior. Violet so shell beehive your.

The interrogation of a teenager ends with siphoning sighs.

[gabriellamaries]

Coffee Shop Overheard

What do you mean twelve years of sitting in rows filling in bubbles on scantrons doesn't prepare you for adulthood?

[nayefism-deactivated20180618]

‘The Flower Salesman’ tribute to Fares in Dortmund, Germany. Fares, who sold roses around Hamra in Beirut was killed this past week when he went to visit his family in Syria.

[unicef]

Happy International Literacy Day! Education is every child’s right and the foundation for a better future.

[gabriellamaries]

Color Against Bare Concrete

She danced her way through New Orleans, again and bared her shoulder to the cloudless sky. Iron wrought balconies spilled ferns and red flowers onto her twirling skirts. Jazz ribboned her ankles, wrists, and hips.

Color against bare concrete backdrop.

She felt the past in hustling streets and wished the streets weren’t strengthened with leveed promises. Salt and spices and burnt plastic touched the air, cobbling her breathing, halting her feet. Memory ever-demanding broken rhythm, ever-demanding (pursuing) broken time

[gabriellamaries]

My boyfriend: "life would be so much better if farting in public was permissable and there were couches everywhere."

[gabriellamaries]

Demanding Time

She danced her way through New Orleans again and bared her shoulders to the cloudless sky. The sun was blessed when kissing, but cursed so loudly when skin reddened and reflected southern sunset. She felt the past in hustling streets and wished the water never came. A vacancy was felt and feet stopped their dancing but they could not be still for long, of course, before the jazz ribboned around her ankles and wrists, demanding rhythm, demanding time. - @gabriellamaries

[theladyintweed]

Blenheim Palace, the library

Photo by me 

[gabriellamaries]

Even When I kneel

A stranger pulled her fingers through my hair and drew the sun-dust out. It’s been a darker shade ever since but now I can feel the earth in it, though it doesn’t touch the ground, even when I kneel.

[gabriellamaries]

Desert-graced Skin

Burgeoning figures bring tears to my eyes only to dance blithely down and leap, pooling in the dip of my collarbone. A reflection of your tongue against my desert-graced skin, falling and searching. Pointed toes and straight lines, a whirl of red and breath.

[gabriellamaries]

The scent of salt still clings from the ocean in which you threw me.

[gabriellamaries]

Hoping is Half the Fight

“Massive internal infection.” Has quite the poetic ring, doesn’t it? “Your insides are rotting” doesn’t quite cut it. “You’re dying,” is simply too blunt. But an infection, well, those are curable, and hoping is half the fight.

[tylerknott]

Please don’t change a thing, I’m in love with the pieces that make up your whole.

Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson (via tylerknott)

daniel-thelmlott

[bonitavista-deactivated20190411]

Norway

photo via pihla

[gabriellamaries]

This is my Armor

This is my chain mail, woven from grass and grey-blue sky. This is my helmet, formed with forbearance and faith. And this,  this is my breastplate, hardened  by the hailstorm  that is you. 

[gabriellamaries]

The Belly of the In-Between

Nothing is blacker than the beast that is the In-Between. The waiting for something, anything, to come up or fall through. The waiting for him to wake up or simply fess up he's been asleep all along. In the belly of the In-Between, many spend most of their lives. In the belly of the In-Between, many become petrified. Nothing is blacker than the beast that is the In-Between.

[gabriellamaries]

A Sunflower-Sucrose Gale

Loving you is stepping into a river of sunlit wind. My fingers stretch, and with my chin upturned, I become you and you become me in a sunflower-sucrose gale.