Good morning

Her triggers shoot stars. They trip into combustion. She's eager to ignite. Some say it's just a temper... Some say she's a danger... Others, the ones that hide Their explosive whispers, They say she euthanized The last boy To touch her tender flames.

[ionofalion]

don’t know what to do

swallowing swords/ to fill that space/ between breaths/ how many times/ can I die/ in dreams/ before I wake up again/ I think I’m up to three/ I guess/ I’m another cosmic inside joke/ guess I’ll have another smoke/ guess my heart is as heavy as oak/ guess I’m kinda rich but still broke/ dreaming of schemes & alternative plotlines/ I’m a failure by design/ but fuck that guy/ he was a hypocrite who tried to lie/ but me/ I’m more like flightless icarus/ so you tell me/ what’s the difference/ between ripe fruit & a worthless parachute

[inkskinned]

i have studied the curve of your back as star maps, oh my guiding light. i know we both cradle a bad dream in the palms of our hands; have heard the glint of a sharp blade and kissed it and called it clean.

but when i kiss the hollow of your collarbone, isn’t that healing. isn’t it praying when you cry my name. aren’t we building cathedrals here under blue covers, aren’t those shoulders wings, isn’t that moan the choir. aren’t these bruises the mark of the faithful. when you bend is not that the wheat.

oh let me teach you about worship. your hipbones in the dawn light make altars ring with jealousy. i know we are both cut from a cold place. have seen stones burn. have been made monster, cast out. demon-made and banished. knew no home except bloody.

but you and i. we make holy. 

[buttonpoetry]

“Sometimes no one even notices a person’s problems until they set themselves on fire.”

— Siaara Freeman, “For Cleveland, Ohio, My Home”

[theglasschild]

“I’m not everything I want to be, but I’m more than I was, and I’m still learning.”

— Charlotte Eriksson, Everything Changed When I Forgave Myself (via wordsnquotes)

[theglasschild]

“Leave that room, kid. Shut the screen off. Take your dirty shoes, not the pretty ones, and go out to feel the wind. Touch water. Touch earth. Touch wood, touch skin, touch everything you can touch and memorise everything because that’s all you will live off in the end, and that’s all you will need.”

— Charlotte Eriksson, Everything Changed When I Forgave Myself

[the-final-sentence]

“Seventy-five: No longer a child- Eighty-one: not even the air can breathe- Ninety-three: The Earth grabs up up up up up for your feet- but what lifts you from this world cannot be seen you are free you are free you are free”

— Amber Tamblyn, from “Samantha Smith”

[fireandsteelofangels]

I wish for you  blooming flowers covering your bruises not to mask them but to remind you that they make you beautiful I wish for you  to chase the stars that streak across the sky not to long to be apart of them but to know that to others you already hang there  I wish for you joy and the sea air of standing by the beach  of champagne bubbles and good books  of hands tracing you gently and hope  I wish for you  all good things in the universe because, darling, on this black earth you are lightning strike you are what we found in the ruins of Pompeii, legend made life

you are soft and good and worthy by Abby S (via fireandsteelofangels)

[descriptionwithoutlabels]

he told himself his body would get to me, eventually,

There was a bird, a Brother Magpie, who couldn’t stop bringing me deadly pieces and small devices he could barely cart and hardly swallow. But he did intomb every spit of silver, he did engulf knives in waves of cough-drop-pierced...

[hangingwallflower-blog]

Have you ever tried loving yourself? I mean really loving yourself. Like stood in front of a mirror with just your underwear on? Or maybe even naked and repeated, “this is what I am.” What about making love with the lights on? And afterwards laying next to each other hand in hand talking about how your stretch marks look like misplaced rivers in a desert. Have you connected your acne with a sharpie and laughed at how much it oddly resembles the Big Dipper? Take the band-aids off your scars and point them toward the sky. Let flowers grow from your veins, hell, let a garden grow. Scrub off that manicure and watch the polish swirl down and stain the edges of the sink. It feels good to smile with crooked teeth and to not be able to button the top button on those jeans. You are the sun the moon and the stars and none of those things are perfect up close.

Kimberly Siehl | Love yourself like the constellation that you are (via hangingwallflower)

[lora-mathis]

I was born into a line of women too afraid to leave. My mother sleeps with her eyes open in his bed and wills herself not to cry to strangers when they offer her a glass of wine. I have seen her pack her suitcase in her head as she nervously wipes her stained red teeth, always snapping out of it and straightening her skirt before she makes it to the door. Even in her dreams, she is terrified of him not having a meal to come home to. I did as I was taught and gave “I love you”s like apologies, staying even when I began mixing up “growing up” and “giving up” never even noticing my tongue had slipped until I was corrected. Five pages of my journal began with “reasons to leave” and still, I did not tell myself to run, just continued to scribble things I needed to change about myself, saying that my shaking bones did not excuse my shortcomings, that I needed to be more for you. I wish someone had told me:in the struggle to love another better, do not forget to love yourself. You are more than your failed relationships. Your lovers do not shiver when you touch them because they can feel ghosts beneath your skin. When he talks to you about “forever”, do not be afraid to say “no.” You come from a line of women who forgot what “no” tasted like, who kept their feet out the window but felt too guilty that someone would have to clean up their mess to ever jump. But you are not your mother and do not need to put makeup on before he wakes up out of fear that he will see desire to be more. You do not have to open your legs to him in sleep because your grandmother taught you to never turn down somebody who says “please.” You were born on a battlefield with white crosses in the spaces where love took a bullet to the chest, but you are more than a wounded soldier. The moon is sleeping in your stomach, waiting to remind you that you can glow without somebody’s hands inside of you. I wonder if anyone ever told you: just because he says he can “fix” you, does not mean you owe him yourself.

I Wonder If Anyone Told You | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)

[s-i-r-e-n-songs]

She likes Vodka on the rocks, dancing in clubs on Saturday night and showing up at church on Sunday not the least bit hungover. She’s tattooed and pierced but she’d rather talk about how Jesus was pierced for our inability to not fuck things up irrevocably. I’d rather talk about...

[buttonpoetry]

I had a dream last night: they strung me up like a song, but this time the noose said no.

Emi Mahmoud - “Eulogy”

Featuring at Button Poetry Live, June 2017. Make Button Poetry grow!

(via buttonpoetry)

[buttonpoetry]

Do you know that? What it means to come from catastrophe? To have no word for homeland except the crack of bone?

Franny Choi - “Split Mouth”

Performing at Rustbelt 2017 in Minneapolis, MN.  Help bring Button to you.  

(via buttonpoetry)

[buttonpoetry]

Although the soul is a joke we tell to the part of ourselves we can touch, it’s only because the soul is a fire, and laughs at our sorrow, and has already survived us.

Kai Carlson-Wee - “Holes in the Mountain” (via buttonpoetry)

[lifeinpoetry]

despite how many times you’ve killed the animal inside you only to meet it again in the morning / breathing out of your own mouth

Natasha Oladokun, from “The Poem Climbs the Scaffold and Tells You What It Sees” published in The Adroit Journal (via lifeinpoetry)

[buttonpoetry]

I’ve never been very good at small talk. I’m always too busy wondering where interesting scars come from.

Guante, “A Love Song, A Death Rattle, A Battle Cry” (via buttonpoetry)

[vivre-voyage]

The Ending

I passed by a temple last night

it was locked, no visitors after midnight.

Even God switches off the phone,

forgets to hook up the answering machine.

The ocean sends back tragedies one

after the other, sand whispering secrets

of salvation. Are we old enough

to ask for freedom from our own heads now?

The waves reincarnate all my faith

religion and lovers on the wrong side of the bed.

All the oranges are peeling themselves

today. The switches have been turned off and on

so many times, we lay panic stricken.

Your lungs are filled with empty laughter.

Everything they told me is moth eaten

and but so am I.

My bones shape-shift into a goddess

every muscle a dusk tide.

Hold on, every revelation

is a beginning.

In December

all the lights blink twice,

q u e s t i o n i n g

before their homecoming.

I have been a smoke signal,

for most winters. The ghost in me now asks

for concrete jungles. I have had to armour myself

for so long I forgot

I could ask for your hands.

And maybe we be could be atheists tonight.

Maybe we could be lighthouses ourselves or

of each other. Most of my pilgrimages are to home

anyways now. All of these ships

maybe realising the north is

                          in each other

                  instead of the ghosts

                  they make us chase

                   our whole lives.