A Meaningless Routine

[birdasaurus]

April Loyle

[unrar]

Apricot blossoms shower Valentino Park’s walkway, Italy, William Albert Allard.

[fleurishes]

I practice kissing other boys and do not tell you. I do not wash my hair sometimes for three or four days. You are probably so tired of all the cigarette smoke, the mugs full of tea setting cold on the counter, my inability to put my clothes away after wearing them, how I am so heavy-footed that you can’t make cakes when I am home. If you asked me I would tell you that yes, I am faking it, but you never do so we continue living as we live. Dancing around each other but never close enough to touch. We are a fire-hazard, the little pieces that come with toy sets, not for swallowing. My hands do not smell like my own. I try on wedding dresses and then cry in the changing room. The truth is I love you. What I am trying to say is that I never want to see you again.

Kristina Haynes, “The Things You Aren’t Supposed to Say” (via fleurishes)

[fleurishes]

I scrounge for change. I bring my own travel mug to school because it’s cheaper that way. I start books but do not finish them. I think about love obsessively. Everything I do reminds me of my grandfather. My grandmother visits and talks to me about God, wants me to believe, but I do not have that kind of faith. I only believe in the easy things, like red lipstick and coffee before noon and writing essays in pen. I make my mind up about boys and then I unmake it, compare us to continental drift, two ships passing. I hit the snooze button too often. Write disposable poems on napkins and old homework, try to discipline myself when it comes to removing my makeup before bed. I am trying to understand men better, cut them some slack, write about them less. I dream about oceans and mountains and wolves. I do not always love myself. I do not always forgive myself. I write apology letters and do not send them. Usually, I do not mean it when I tell someone “goodbye.”

Kristina Haynes, “Self-Portrait at Twenty-One” (via fleurishes)

[thequotejournals]

We’re all kind of weird and twisted and drowning.

Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood (via thequotejournals)

[jimlovesart-deactivated20190109]

Joan Mitchell - Sans Titre. 

[michelleblade]

Day 359

366 Days of the Apocalypse

Michelle Blade, 2012

Acrylic ink on paper, 8 x 10”

[wandering-caveman]

[thelovejournals]

I like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite new a thing. Muscles better and nerves more. I like your body. I like what it does, I like its hows. I like to feel the spine of your body and its bones,and the trembling -firm-smooth ness and which I will again and again and again kiss, I like kissing this and that of you, I like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs, and possibly I like the thrill of under me you so quite new of under me you so quite new

E.E. Cummings, I like my body when it is with your (via thelovejournals)

[blackhistoryalbum]

MAYA ANGELOU, STYLE ICON | 1958 Maya Angelou at New York’s Village Vanguard in the late 1950s. Photo by G. Marshall Wilson.

Black History Album: The Way We Were. 100 Years of African American Vintage Photography from the end of slavery in the 1860′s to the Black Power Movement of the 1960s and beyond.  Pinterest | Tumblr | Twitter | Facebook.

[lifeinpoetry]

Long ago, I was wounded. I lived to revenge myself against my father, not for what he was— for what I was: from the beginning of time, in childhood, I thought that pain meant I was not loved. It meant I loved.

Louise Glück, “First Memory,” Poems 1962-2012 (via lifeinpoetry)

[taylor-mcpherson]

This one was my favorite. The sun was in it’s descent, everything was golden, and there we were, waiting for waves, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. These are the moments I live for.

[sorryish]

“I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?”

Stand By Me (1986)

[meyouanddoom-deactivated2021021]

[sheabutterbitch]

notes on rekindling romantic relationships: nostalgia is a liar, old habits die hard, don’t confuse familiarity with comfort, sometimes even healed wounds hurt, time doesn’t build trust, growth does not look the same on everyone, listen to the voice in your head, love requires more than love, protect yourself

[fantasieindecenti-deactivated20]

[cactiheart]

peruvian apple cactus // jimsheaffer