🌸B E L O W🌸

[savage-words]

“in this dream, a bird’s ribs are pulled apart in imitation of a flowering — the wolf bends, and, tamed halfway, makes a nest among the wet tremors of her viscera. mother says i never should have sewn my heart from the sorrows of thistle. the field of it has sprouted poppies, jagging apocalypse from my flesh — now i stand drunk and death-kissed, heavy with such strange fruitings; o, mother, kiss me. this is your daughter’s wedding night: the last of her loves is pine-crowned, as green still as in the cradle.”

—   in which the poet weds the land   december 31st, 2018  / /  lianna schreiber (via ragewrites)

[judelaw]

I love how their post says “A better, more positive Tumblr” as if female nipples are what’s ruining the experience on this website and not bullies, racists, homophobes and actual nazis

[morgan-the-carrot]

“So we’re in your car and

you’ve got your hand tight around my throat,

and you say good girl,

and you say next time.

I melt to a puddle with your fingers in my mouth. This is the first time I’ve touched comfortable violence in over a year.

It’s just spoon fed lies and all this hurt swept under the rug.

It’s just you and me and our walls and your tattooed heart hell bent on misunderstanding me;

The same cycle we ride into the ground like tradition, two stubborn mouths refusing to speak and then crashing into eachother before parting ways again. I think to myself: this time is the last time as I walk home and brush the taste of you off the back of my teeth.

This was never going to work, but by god if we didn’t try anyway.”

-DEAD THINGS by Morgan Soto

[the-book-diaries]

“You never forget. It must be somewhere inside you. Even if the brain has forgotten, perhaps the teeth remember. Or the fingers.”

— Neil Gaiman, Trigger Warning: Short Fictions and Disturbances (via the-book-diaries)

[wildfairy]

“maybe i’ll write a poem about october one day, but right now everything is laced in buttercups and the scent of rain fresh on the pavement. do you see what you’ve done? how i’m pretending to love the taste of dandelion fluff again. there’s everything poetic in your wide eyes but there’s no actual words that measure up. i’m watching you and trying to learn how to heal. how to fall back in love with a world that tried to rip me out of it by the mouth. your voice like the clear ringing of a bullet ripping through this city. i don’t know where the wound will end up. i just hope the birds survive. i just hope i don’t have to watch it rain feathers again.”

— October & A Happier Story to Tell, Angelea Lowes (via angelealowes)

[naturaekos]

“And all I loved, I loved alone.”

— Edgar Allan Poe (via naturaekos)

[lifeinpoetry]

                                    What do you do when your body becomes a wound? What do you do                                        when your scars open back up again? When one day you put your hand to                                   your mouth and find                                        nothing?

— Brynne Rebele-Henry, from “Self-portrait as a broken Venus statuette,” Autobiography of a Wound

[lifeinpoetry]

“I have never been allowed to be holy, / I have never been forgiven for wanting.”

— Gwen Benaway, from “Boys,” Holy Wild

[naturaekos]

“It is very sad to me that some people are so intent on leaving their mark on the world that they don’t care if that mark is a scar.”

— John Green (via naturaekos)

[8-bitfiction]

[naturaekos]

“Her body existed only where he touched her. The rest of her was smoke.”

— Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things (via naturaekos)

[weltenwellen]

“Bones break the same way no matter the intention.”

— Thuli Zuma, “One” 

[tristealven]

“i want to almost not exist. / almost is the closest i can get to the sky.”

— Billy-Ray Belcourt, from “Gay Incantations,” This Wound is a World  

[alonesomes]

“Darling, Have you ever not pulled things from the wreckage? Are you tired? Do your arms hurt? Who offers you honey when you need it? Who lets you rest?”

— Upile Chisala (via cmeptb02)

[the-book-diaries]

“Her smile, I’m sure, burnt Rome to the ground.”

— Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves

[inanotherunivrse]

in another universe, i picked the guy who’s in love me rather than the guy who’s hung up on someone else

[enslavedmind-deactivated2025091]

where does it hurt?

i. in the sunlight where dandelion petals fall, chests break open to accept wind’s gift, but none say a word as the shattering sky wails into trees, splitting homes in two.

ii. inside highway nightlights, trickling tears spin into chaos. the nights are young, but our souls are old & withered. nothing more to be done than to lay on the road, waiting.

iii. my own beating heart weeps for hands that cannot grasp reality. fluttering dreams pass by my window, a mural of what i knew & what she stole to help me forget.