ALL THAT WANTING, RIGHT?

the poem is here. the revolution, too.

[astrangerlately]

[koushuuz]

trying to get through this summer by externalizing my feelings with messy journaling

[astrangerlately]

[feral-ballad]

Habiba Muhammadi, tr. by Ibrahim Muhawi, from The Poetry of Arab Women: A Contemporary Anthology; “Untitled Poem”

[lifeinpoetry]

“I need your teeth in me, slow and vicious, to tell me my armor is just skin, bones, only bones.”

— Jamaal May, from “The Whetting of Teeth,” The Big Book of Exit Strategies

[feral-ballad]

Carol Ann Duffy, from The World’s Wife; “Medusa”

[Text ID: “And here you come / with a shield for a heart / and a sword for a tongue”]

[metamorphesque]

— "A Kiss on the Forehead", Marina Tsvetaeva   

[ text ID: A kiss on the forehead — erases misery. / I kiss your forehead. / A kiss on the eyes — lifts sleeplessness. / I kiss your eyes. / A kiss on the lips — is a drink of water. / I kiss your lips. / A kiss on the forehead — erases memory. 1917 ]

[firstfullmoon]

Most days I try hard to act human, to breathe like a human and speak with the same flat language, but often

my kindness is clumsy—I stop a stranger to tie his shoe and end up kissing his knees.

— Kaveh Akbar, from “Against Hell,” in Calling a Wolf a Wolf

[forestgreenlesbian]

Hammond B3 Organ Cistern and Most Days I Want to Live, Gabrielle Calvocoressi

To The Young Who Want To Die, Gwendolyn Brooks

I Never Wanted to Die, Dorianne Laux

[geryone]

Lucky Wreck, Ada Limón

[lunchboxpoems]

REFUSAL TO MOURN

In lieu of flowers, send him back.

ANDREA COHEN

[weltenwellen]

Adonis, from “Persons”, Selected Poems

[tinyghosthands]

Poems written by elementary school students to greet fliers at Miami International Airport

[feral-ballad]

We are alive. And now the work is to be gentler with ourselves and with the world. I want such a sweet life for you. I want the fierceness of attention, of the light coming over the hill, of your own hand bringing a cup to your mouth. Of love, which will abide so much longer than the fire.

Molly McCully Brown, from Places I've Taken My Body: Essays

[sehyn]

my mom says she’s not a hugger. but when i put my arms around her on a gloomy day or after bad news she’s the last to let go. my dad says he doesn’t want gifts on his birthday, but i see the way his face lights up when i get him a card with a nice message and a box full of chocolate anyway. he’s just a kid inside, still. it makes him giddy. my brother never says i love you. but when i tell him “i just need to finish the dishes before i vacuum!” he wordlessly goes to vacuum the entire house before i can, and if he sees me struggle with a wrapper or a jar or a bottle he mutters ‘c’mere’ and opens it for me without even sparing me a glance. the thing is, people love you quietly, and you love them quietly, and the air is buzzing with tiny but grand gestures & once you look for them, you find them everywhere. i think that’s really beautiful.

[studylustre]

stop asking me wyd i’m literally always thinking about love and how it touches every aspect of the human experience

[gaycommunist]

actually, growing up is feeling like i turned sixteen two days ago. i’ve been eighteen for years. fifteen year olds seem so young. wasn’t i fifteen just a few weeks ago? all my friends and i are still twelve. i’m closer to thirty than to being a baby. i never got to be a kid. i never grew past eight. i can’t talk to my mom. i want to sit in her lap forever. i want to decide everything for myself. i need someone to tell me exactly what to do. the week is going by so slow. an entire year has passed.