SOULSWAP

PUT YOUR FAITH IN ANOTHER LIFE PAST

[impxria]

꒰ original writing & reblogs.

♡ IANNA. 21⁺. she / her.

[lena-oleanderson]

also a poem from the new, unreleased collection. very possibly my own all-time favourite.

[lunamonchtuna]

— Mary Lambert, Shame Is an Ocean I Swim Across; "You Are with the Wrong Person" (via lunamonchtuna)

[weltenwellen]

Ocean Vuong, The Emperor of Gladness

[petaltexturedskies]

Jenny Slate, Little Weirds

[geryone]

Spells of My Name, I.S. Jones

[shisasan]

9 June 1939 Letters to Véra by Vladimir Nabokov

[weltenwellen]

Rainer Maria Rilke in a letter to Lou Andreas-Salomé, published in Rilke and Andreas-Salomé: A Love Story in Letters

[existentialyearning]

Salma Deera, "Salt"

[nixscriptum]

[mournfulroses]

Katherine Mansfield, from a letter to Dorothy Brett featured in The Letters & Journals of Katherine Mansfield

[gunmetallic]

⸺ on soulmates and suffering.

Fyodor Dostoevsky // via tullipsink // Faiz Ahmed Faiz // Margaret Atwood // sam sax // Mary Shelley. also see: soulmate (horror)

[geryone]

Hammer Is the Prayer, Christian Wiman

[neoyorzapoteca]

(via BOMB Magazine | Alina Perez by Isabella Rafky)

[feral-ballad]

June Gehringer, “EARTH IS AN ANAGRAM FOR HEART, U FUCKING IDIOTS”

[Text ID: “I don’t want to talk about it. / I want to lie in what little grass remains / and try to fit your heart inside of mine.”]

[daweyt]

— Frank Bidart, from “Half-light: Collected Poems 1965-2016; ‘The Third Hour of the Night’", published c. 2017.

[nosebleedclub]

What story do you want to tell?

[impxria]

I WANT TO SHARE MY GRIEF, you say, but the words don't quite come out right, don't quite feel right. there's a numbness somewhere and a tingling on the tip of your tongue, and in your throat : the taste of iron and what-ifs and what if i had done better, paid more attention. acted faster and a whole entirety of dread that clings to existence.

I WANT TO --

you choke on the rust, feel it spiral into a coughing fit of something more. your lungs burn. something isn't quite right. something isn't right. something is wrong.

it feels wrong, but it's not, but it is. because it's not really your grief, yet it belongs to you, and it is yours. but it's theirs, too. it's theirs, it's everyone they loved. but you can't tell their story because it's not yours to tell. you can't share your grief because in the end, maybe it shouldn't be yours. it's not yours to have, and the things you have seen have sent you to ruin.

who are you to share that, after all?