[nevver]

[firstfullmoon]

“And there is, for me, no difference between writing a good poem and moving into sunlight against the body of a woman I love.”

— Audre Lorde, from “Uses of the Erotic,” in Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches

[juansendizon]

“I’m a soft believer in the wisdom of loving someone in such a way that sets them free because love blossoms in appreciation. Love blossoms when it’s watered with gentleness, tenderness, and care. Love blossoms when it is given the space to be beautiful on its own.”

— Juansen Dizon

[perksofbeinganoverthinkeryo-dea]

"I live too much in my past that I have no control over my present"

[heartofmuse]

Fundirnos

No hay más que dulzura al fundirnos en un mismo sentir, tus labios y mis labios ya no los puedo distinguir y mis fervorosas manos que no paran de adorarte tienen ya tatuadas en ellas tu esencia y mis versos saben tanto ya a tu amor, que escribir es tenerte aquí conmigo, haciendo de la pluma verter corazón. Es que tus palabras las hago mías, pues el sentimiento que late en nuestros pechos es el mismo y tu voz se confunde con mi voz y laten, ya juntos, todos nuestros ritmos. Y amarte es la más bella forma de vivir. Se que naci para amarte y brindarte mi ternura y pasión, para bañarte en los amores más profundos y fragantes. Y sabes, lo mas bonito es saber que tu si comprendes cuanto y como yo te amo, y que es esta locura que me estalla en el pecho y las palabras que se desbordan de mis labios. Y si algun dia ya no pudieras estar aquí, dejaría abierta cada puerta para que pudieses salir pero tambien despues volver a mi pues tu libertad son los pies con que camino y tus alas, las palabras con las que escribo.

e.v.e.

There is nothing but sweetness between us as melt into the same feeling, your lips and my lips I can no longer distinguish them and my fervent hands that can not stop worshiping you, already have your essence tattooed on them and my verses already taste so much of your love, that to write is to have you here with me, making the pen pour out heart. I make your words mine, because the feeling that beats in our chest is one and the same and your voice gets confused with my voice and all our rhythms beat together effortlessly. Loving you is the most beautiful way of living and I know I was born to love you and to offer you my tenderness and passion, to bathe you in the deepest and most fragrant of loves. And it is the most beautiful thing to know that you do understand how much and how I love you, and you know this madness that explodes in my chest and the words that overflow from my lips. And if someday you could no longer be here, I would leave every door open so that you could leave but also later return to me because your freedom is the feet with which I walk and your wings, the words with which I write.

[photos-of-space]

Dark and Stormy Jupiter

[thoughtlessinspirationss]

“Watch out for writers, For they are full of fire. They have the power Of a thousand suns. They have the power To burn things to the ground; With just one pen.”

— L.L.

[soracities]

Walt Whitman, ‘We Two, How Long We Were Fool’d’ (selected lines), Leaves of Grass

[Text ID: “what the earth is, we are, We are seas mingling–”]

[nomorechoirs]

“(…) among all the words of ancient and holy languages, there I am—in translation, my life spread out like stars in a slate-colored sky—”

— Vandana Khanna, from Insignificant Beginnings in “Afternoon Masala: Poems By Vandana Khanna” (via adrasteiax)

[soracities]

“Thoreau always had two notebooks—one for facts, and the other for poetry. But he had a hard time keeping them apart, as he often found facts more poetic than his poems. They are, he said, translated from the language of the earth into that of the sky. Thoreau knew that the imagination uses facts to fabricate images and even delicate architectures. One summer night, looking up into the sky at a particularly beautiful, scintillating star, he thought perhaps another traveler somewhere else along the coast was, like him, looking up at that same star and said, ‘Of what unsuspected triangles are stars the apex?’”

— Jean Frémon, from “Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Gloves,” trans. Cole Swenson, Southern Review (vol. 56, no. 1, Winter 2020)

[neckkiss]

Comet (2014)

[chuckakot]

“Why do you always have to be beautiful and so patient like that?”

— Chuck Akot

[neckkiss]

via weheartit

[somepiecesofmyheartandsoul-deac]

“Sometimes, I can still taste the blood of the past and hear the echoes of old voices that cease to exist. Sometimes, it feels like my soul is stuck in history, and my current life is none other than a show of play pretend.”

— Lukas W. // Blood of the past

[amortizing]

“In order to understand, I destroyed myself.”

— Fernando Pessoa, from The Book of Disquiet (via minuty)

[heightenedheartbreak]

We almost had our forever

- (C.B)

[averagefairy]

y’all remember being 15? That was fucked up