Where We Step, Gardens Will Rise.

Learning to occupy space like I belong, nurture myself and those around me, practice true kindness, eat yummy food and dance a little along the way.

[motherground]

This is the Nonsense of Love

Our kiss is a secret handshake, a password. We love like spies, like bruised prize fighters, like children building tree houses. Our love is serious business. One look from you and my spine reincarnates as kite string. When I hesitate to hold your hand, it is because to know is to be responsible for knowing. II. There is no clean way to enter the heavy machinery of the heart. Just jagged cutthroat questions. Just the glitter and blood production. III. The truth is this: My love for you is the only empire I will ever build. When it falls, as all empires do, my career in empire building will be over. I will retreat to an island. I will dabble in the vacation-hut industry. I will skulk about the private libraries and public parks. I will fold the clean clothes. I will wash the dishes. I will never again dream of having the whole world.

– mindy nettifee

[motherground]

“What is a wound but a flower dying on its descent to the earth, bag of scent filled with war, forest, torches, some trouble that befell now over and done. A wound is a fire sinking into itself. The tinder serves only so long, the log holds on and still it gives up, collapses into its bed of ashes and sand. I burned my hand cooking over a low flame, that flame now alive under my skin, the smell not unpleasant, the wound beautiful as a full-blown peony. Say goodbye to disaster. Shake hands with the unknown, what becomes of us once we’ve been torn apart and returned to our future, naked and small, sewn back together scar by scar.”

— dorianne laux, blossom

[theartofanimation]

Yaoyao Ma Van As  -  http://yaoyaoartblog.tumblr.com  -  https://twitter.com/yaoyaomva?lang=es  -  https://www.facebook.com/Yaoyao-Ma-Van-As-Art-484891181889354  -  https://www.instagram.com/yaoyaomva/?hl=es

[motherground]

“What is a wound but a flower dying on its descent to the earth, bag of scent filled with war, forest, torches, some trouble that befell now over and done. A wound is a fire sinking into itself. The tinder serves only so long, the log holds on and still it gives up, collapses into its bed of ashes and sand. I burned my hand cooking over a low flame, that flame now alive under my skin, the smell not unpleasant, the wound beautiful as a full-blown peony. Say goodbye to disaster. Shake hands with the unknown, what becomes of us once we’ve been torn apart and returned to our future, naked and small, sewn back together scar by scar.”

— dorianne laux, blossom

[motherground]

Donts and Dews

Baby don’t swear at me remember when you were young & sane a mouth full of apple juice lyrics hidden in your shoe Honey don’t stare at me as if we’d made love by the pound your purse full of cat bones furry little ghosts haunting low Darling just bear with me take the rocks from my pockets do card tricks on my chest ’til the sun rises out of sight Sweetheart take care of me hold back the tide & rain store the moon in a bus station locker in case it all breaks down.

– saint james harris wood

[vidjeti]

Exciting the Canvas

That the moon causes tides seems too witchy to be science. The sea purging sheet iron, jeans, a jewel-eyed alabaster goat. Is that why I’m here? Everyone needs kudos, from newborns to saviors. Nora, nearly three, draws sunlight in golden bars, not unlike an Impressionist painter. I like to think of light this way, dispensed in attaché cases to illuminate as needed. The famous poet said write by the light of your wounds. A drunk flies over his bicycle handlebars, crumples by the side of the road. Performed pain is still pain. Some people born before the Model T lived to see man walk on the moon. To be strapped like that to the masthead of history would make me frantic. At parties I’d shout I’m frantic, and you? Like a fire, hungry and resisting containment, I’d pound at the windows, my mouth full of hors d'oeuvres. Outside—sweeping plains of green flora and service stations. Odd, for an apocalypse to announce itself with such bounty. I hear crickets chirp and think of my weaker heart, the tiny one sewn behind the one that beats. It lives there made entirely of watery pink light, flapping at dawn like a baby’s cheek. It doesn’t take much to love a saint like me. On a gravel road, the soft tissues of my eye detect a snake curling around a tree branch. Because I am here each of these things has a name.

– kaveh akbar

[thegabdonwrites]

I think the quiet is good. The alone, necessary. Every minute, of every day I spend with others; I negotiate. Where I fit. The space I fill. How much I speak. The words I use. How much I show, of who I really am. I am always negotiating. And so, it is a blessing, somedays, the quiet. Necessary; the alone. To switch off. To stretch my being in every direction; without want of permission. It is a blessing.

to stretch my being, f.gabdon (via thegabdonwrites)

[coolhandofagirl]

stop me if you’ve heard this one but men will search for women who are full of joy and confidence so they can leech off of it and then after they’ve left her empty and burned out and drained of all the life that once existed behind her eyes they’ll say she isn’t the woman they fell in love with

[mesamadwendwen]

10 years

[motherground]

Invitation

Come in, come in. The water’s fine! You can’t get lost here. Even if you want to hide behind a clutch           of spiny oysters — I’ll find you. If you ever leave me           at night, by boat, you’ll see the arrangement of red-gold sun stars in a sea of milk. And though it’s tempting to visit them — stay. I’ve been trained          to gaze up all my life, no matter the rumble          on earth, but I learned it’s okay to glance down into the sea. So many lessons bubble up if you know where to look. Clouds of plankton churning           in open whale mouths might send you east           and chewy urchins will slide you west. Squid know how to be rich when you have ten empty arms. Can you believe there are humans who don’t value          the feel of a good bite and embrace at least once a day?          Underneath you, narwhals spin upside down while their singular tooth needles you like a compass pointed towards home. If you dive            deep enough where imperial volutes and hatchetfish            swim, you will find all the colors humans have not yet named, and wide caves of black coral and clamshell. A giant squid finally let itself be captured           in a photograph, and the paper nautilus ripple-flashes           scarlet and two kinds of violet when it silvers you near. Who knows what will happen next? And if you still want to look up, I hope you see the dark sky as oceanic —           boundless, limitless — like all the shades of blue in a glacier.          Listen how this planet spins with so much fin, wing, and fur.

– aimee nezhukumatathil

[asda-becauseitschristmas]

[elvedon]

“Forgive me my grief that spans out acres. I have love the size of a church, & no one to give it to. Do I cut my hair? Do I harvest all of my beginnings? I touch my teeth with my tongue to remember the sharp can fade. Someone learns my name. I fall asleep.

Ana Carrizo, “Reflections” (via elvedon)

[theartofanimation]

Rebecca Mock  -  http://www.folioart.co.uk/illustration/folio/artists/illustrator/rebecca-mock  -  https://www.linkedin.com/in/rebecca-mock-a7090117  -  http://rebeccamock.com/index.html  -  https://www.instagram.com/rebeccamock  -  https://twitter.com/rebeccamock  -  http://rebeccamock.blogspot.com.es  -  https://society6.com/rebeccamock  -  https://www.inprnt.com/gallery/rebeccamock

[theunquotables]

Lately I’ve been thinking about who I want to love, and how I want to love, and why I want to love the way I want to love, and what I need to learn to love that way, and who I need to become to become the kind of love I want to be…and when I break it all down, when I whittle it into a single breath, it essentially comes out like this: Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.

Andrea Gibson (via theunquotables)

[watchoutforintellect]

What love did then, love does now: Gnaws me through.

Sylvia Plath - from “Dialogue Between Ghost & Priest” in Collected Poems (via watchoutforintellect)

[bostonpoetryslam]

Brooklyn’s too cold tonight & all my friends are three years away. My mother said I could be anything I wanted—but I chose to live.

Ocean Vuong, “Thanksgiving 2006,” from Night Sky With Exit Wounds (via bostonpoetryslam)

[brutereason]

When you’re depressed (or anxious, or triggered), staying in all weekend, not answering the phone, binge-watching TV, and not getting dressed sounds great. It might even sound like “self-care.” And aspects of it can be self-care. But self-care is not just about soothing yourself in the moment, it’s about setting up the supports and structures that let you be okay enough in your day-to-day life. So while depression says “let’s watch Buffy instead of doing the laundry” the reality is that tomorrow you’re going to wake up to clothes everywhere, nothing clean, and one more thing you haven’t done–which will add to the guilt and shame that seem to come hand-in-hand with depression. On the other hand, depression-challenging behaviours are hard and not fun in the moment, but set you up to a) have small victories (SO important when dealing with mental health issues), b) have some structure and routine in your life, and c) set up the support and structure to let you deal with the root of your issues or cope with issues that aren’t going away anytime soon.

Self-Care Minimums and Dealing With Depression | The Span of My Hips

(via

brutereason

)

yes yes yes!!!! omg!!!! i feel like i gave into this “self care dont do anything” culture so much that i didnt realize how damaging it is. sometimes self care is doing what’s best for yourself in the future, not just in the moment.

(via niqabisinparis)

[thegabdonwrites]

I see the world over there, in the distance. I see the people. I hear all the laughter and life being lived. Some days I ache to be among them; in the midst of all the noise. and others, I want to be as far as possible from it. It has always been this way. And it will always, I think, remain the same.

it has always been this way, f.gabdon (via thegabdonwrites)