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weltenwellen

Jenny Slate, Little Weirds

Rain, New Year’s Eve

by Maggie Smith

The rain is a broken piano, playing the same note over and over.

My five-year-old said that. Already she knows loving the world

means loving the wobbles you can't shim, the creaks you can't

oil silent—the jerry-rigged parts, MacGyvered with twine and chewing gum.

Let me love the cold rain's plinking. Let me love the world the way I love

my young son, not only when he cups my face in his sticky hands,

but when, roughhousing, he accidentally splits my lip.

Let me love the world like a mother. Let me be tender when it lets me down.

Let me listen to the rain's one note and hear a beginner's song.

#poetry #words #2020

airborneranger63

One time my rabbi told us, “imagine you had a box with a little bit of god in it. What would you do with the box?”

So we were like ?? “We’d protect it and keep it nice and clean and polished” and he was like “your body’s that box. Stop eating markers”

larkskatydids

“Real time is slower than social-media time, where everything feels urgent. Real time often includes periods of silence, reflection, growth, space, self-forgiveness, processing with loved ones, rest, and responsibility.”

— adrienne maree brown, Emergent Strategy

with you, intimacy colors my voice. even ‘hello’ sounds like ‘come here’.

Warsan Shire

#quotes #poetry #ka

We're leaving all the windows open We don't even mind the rain Or where we let the floors get wet So what if the hardwood stains? 'Cause we're collecting evidence Of one remarkable storm

Sara Bareilles

#quotes #cancer #healing

jayessart

Why Are Cats Like This

(based on my friend’s cat)

instagram | twitter

weltenwellen

Stars. Or rather, the drains of heaven—waiting. Little holes. Little centuries opening just long enough for us to slip through.

Ocean Vuong, from “Immigrant Haibun”, Night Sky with Exit Wounds (via weltenwellen)

#poetry

replanting

#growing #2019 #rebirth #cancer

there is a part of me that wants to start writing to her. that feels the fear of this dying thing pressing against me like a body at night, replacing her, replacing the joy that is being in love and young and beautifully ignorant to the reality of tragedy. I am twenty-seven. what is it to be twenty-seven and facing incurable cancer? how does one hold such things and live despite and through. I have yet to figure this out, I know only the weight of wanting to spend my life with this beautiful magical person, and the deep force of fear that says I might not get to.

#cancer #k