turns on, tunes in and logs off

shaksi. 23, she/her. i write poems on some days, and on other days i read them. also @badass-but-only-in-my-head and @comeoverwhenyouresober

[makemepoetry]

[theoptia]

Anaïs Nin, from The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 4: 1927-1931

Text ID: I must build up a strong world within myself, so rich and so full that it will be enough. I must find all things in myself, create them. I must reach my own climaxes of strength and creation with my work.

[yeahwrite]

When an artist you enjoy turns out to be a bad person it might be a reflex to say their art was never that good or even that you knew it was terrible all along.

But you have to be careful about the line of thinking that only good people make good art and bad people make bad art.

An artist may come along, one you love, and be accused of dreadful things and their art may be beautiful, riveting, touch on the nature of humanity. And then you might wonder "Are these allegations so true if their art is so good? Only good people make good art after all."

[makemepoetry]

i feel like this happens so much even tho all of us know that no one is like 100% good or bad, im always taken aback when people react like this! people DO things that are good or bad! that should never affect your opinion on their art! separate the art from the artist! (at least in some cases)

[makemepoetry]

he is terror, sure, but i see so much of him in me, which makes me question myself, despite trying my best to not be Him, i am him, he is me, i carry his horrors with me, easily, along with his disorders, desires, like a river that carries everything it's given, the plastic, the flowers.

[homoquartz]

humans are born with a drive to appreciate art. we love color, we love music, we love dance, even as infants. we have an instinct to sculpt in clay and draw on walls, even to fix blocks into expressive shapes, or tell stories with our toys. these things are universal, all cultures have stories and songs and dances and textiles and pottery and beauty. art is something we all have in us.

[girlfictions]

— Fiona Apple

[diet-mountain-dew-nyc]

"I wanted to be unforgettable. Indelible. I wanted to haunt their hearts and minds—to be everywhere and nowhere, spectacular and out of reach. Only in the chaos did it dawn on me. Being remembered is not the same as being missed."

[stlowens]

Louise Glück, from “Matins.”

[makemepoetry]

if someone looks carefully, they can see every single thread of the curtain,

every single piece of you that makes you, you.

but someone has to look to see.

[metamorphesque]

a you-shaped hole in the universe Celia Paul, Ocean Vuong, Owen Gent, Alejandra Pizarnik (trans. Yvette Siegert), Karman Verdi, Edna St Vincent Millay

[ad-wills]

[makemepoetry]

the ground i keep my feet on is freezing; it has been for really long. i don't remember the last time i felt the sun kissing my face with warmth. there's no sun here and i still survive.

survive.

hope is my only friend but i don't know how long would he last. i want the sun, i know it well. i want a sun for myself. i shall hold it in my hands so that i never have to let go of the warmth. even if i get burned it's still better than the wind poking my bones.

oh what a fortune it must be to fill yourself up with the sun's warmth, to have it burn your whole soul, your desires, your pain.

[fellshish]

The devastating difference between how much time it takes to write something vs how fast people read it lol

[weltenwellen]

I had this feeling suddenly. I get this feeling a lot, but I don’t know if there’s one word for it. It’s not nervous or sad or even lonely. It’s all of that, and then a bit more. The feeling is I don’t belong here. I don’t know how I got here, and I don’t know how long I can stay before everyone else realizes that I am an impostor. I am a fraud. I’ve gotten this feeling nearly everywhere I have ever been in my life. There’s nothing you can do about it except drink some water and hope that it subsides. Or you can leave.

I’m lonely. What kind of loneliness? Every kind. I feel disconnected. Abandoned. As always. Repetition. So what, my love? So what? At first, I just wanted to run away. Now I have no where else to run to, nothing to run from. I don’t belong anywhere, I don’t want to go anywhere, I just want to be happy.

(1) Czeslaw Milosz, New and Collected Poems: 1931-2001 (2) Leila Sales, This Song Will Save Your Life (3) Daniela Fischerová, Fingers Pointing Somewhere Else (4) Wisława Szymborska, tr. by Clare Cavanagh and Stanisław Barańczak, from “The Railroad Station”, Map: Collected and Last Poems (5) Daul Kim (6) Sarah Kay, from “The Paradox”, No Matter the Wreckage

[petaltexturedskies]

For a long time now, every meeting with another human being has been a collision. I feel too much, sense too much, am exhausted by the reverberations after even the simplest conversation.

May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

[ashstfu]

gripping my thighs with my nails about this written by @ryebreadgf

[havingapoemwithyou]

when death comes by Mary Oliver