FROZEN SOLILOQUY

A PLATFORM DEDICATED TO ART & POETRY (& OTHER IMPORTANT THINGS) (& OTHER THINGS) MY WRITING

[heavenfay-deactivated20181211]

tender is a word i hold for you. it is a pebble small enough to have fit between your childhood gap-teeth. a whole riverbed of these. storm clouds heavy with blackberry seed. fog that turns our fluttering eyelids amaranth. i almost-love you. i am falling off the bone. it is such a smooth happening. a stone softened by one hundred high tides like it is the moon’s swelling chest. i cannot stop catching my breath. i have a dream where we plant sugar tree in my tummy and i drink lake water for thirty-seven weeks. you say you are afraid of all the sweet. i say sugar is all i will ever need. for your nape there must only be alabaster, candied, tender, tender, tender things.

tender is a word i hold for you, Heaven Fay  (via heavenfay)

[kushandwizdom]

You lose others while finding yourself. Facts of life.

xyyxo (via kushandwizdom)

Good Vibes HERE

(via kushandwizdom)

[aswiya]

A man’s heart is a wretched, wretched thing. It isn’t like a mother’s womb. It won’t bleed. It won’t stretch to make room for you.

Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns (via foreverrtired)

[sometimestuesday-deactivated202]

Say July. Lemonade – but frozen into a shape you can lick. Your selfish need to alter anything that won’t stay where you want it to. The haunting image of a car at the bottom of a lake. The haunting image of anything that is somewhere it’s not supposed to be. Now that I don’t believe in God anymore, I understand what you meant about the rocks in Wyoming: like hands bursting through the desert floor to take us under. That makes sense now. Say strawberry milkshakes. The taste of not being guilty of anything. If I had to describe you: a window of a house at night, somewhere snowy. Not the window, but the light coming through the window from inside. The yellow light. The glowing square of yellow light in the dark distance – to say, ‘Here is proof there’s a tender sanctum in every harshness.’ Float like a buoy on black water, like not even one of us is doomed. I don’t know what to call this feeling: driving alone at night on an empty road, every tree revealed by the headlights for a moment – leaning towards you to tell you a secret, to say, ‘All is forgiven.’

[rootscanada-blog]

[the-telesterion]

“Persephone” by Lyrota

[fixyourwritinghabits]

Thou Shalt Backup Your Work

Have you backed up your work? Do you have it saved in more than one location?

You’ve worked hard getting this far. Don’t lose your work to a kernel panic/blue screen of death/software glitch. 

[princenaveen]

If you don’t think Aubrey Plaza is the perfect choice for a live-action Meg then you’re wrong

[fallonfeypoehlermeyers]

And Chris Pratt is the perfect choice for a live action Hercules.

[chambersmalone]

Make this happen, Disney.

[chantelle-ann]

In other words The entire head is a mouth The mouth is eating hearts The hearts are opening to touch The touch is unaware of the head

Chantelle Ann,  Nonsense

(via chantelle-ann)

[deathbyvalentine]

What is it about me that needs marking? Why am I always to be claimed? My mother spells her name on my skin with words that cut. I cannot remember a blank time. I cannot remember a quiet one. All I remember nowadays is Vanish Vanish Vanish.

I have never found a knife I didn’t like. - (A.V.P)

[instrumentale]

TEXTS TO THE UNIVERSE || s.b.a.

[operahousegirl]

I Made Me For Him

He holds my hair as if he grew it, and he might’ve. Told me not to cut it. Ran his hands through long dead strands. Sometimes I think I made him up. I made me up. I think I forget myself– look back and ask if it was me or someone that felt like me. The way my mother forgets if she turned the oven off and turns the car around. I became a place the way brick and mortar becomes a home–your home– I’d live in and leave again, until I didn’t leave him. There was me inside and me outside, until there wasn’t when he left me. And then what—cut? Whose hair? My hand holds the pair of scissors still the way my mother’s hand stills, spins the steering wheel for the third time, scared of returning to fire and ash.

[elizabetbennet]

[funniest-stuff]

[hohomylad]

#honestly i dont care if its fake

[underwearandourjackedupthumbs]

It’s not. It happens every day all around the world.

[blackberries-and-arsenic]

[fakjumather-deactivated20150125]

Today I don’t think about fear, tears, blood, death, sorrow, pain… I only look at these coffins and graves, and ask myself how could they? how could they? how could they? No! It is not possible that humans did this! Humans, No, no, no! I swear by God.

Zijo Pandur, in Srebrenica 2008. (via fakjumather)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

You and I wear the dangerous looseness of doom and find it becoming.

e.e. cummings, from introduction: new & selected poems  (via penseesduchoeur)

[magic-of-eternity]

source: vk.com