Waiting Game

"I am drowning, my dear, in seas of fire"

[halcynth]

“In the morning, I will not switch open the blinds. / Want to know what it’s like to stay turned off so you can’t be reached.”

— Isabella Wang, from “Ghazal for the New Year,” published in The Puritan 

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

“Something burst in me, slow and terrible like the sea.”

Illiterate Heart: ‘Chennai Afternoon’ by Meena Alexander

[my-tumblrisbetterthanyours]

SINAE YOO

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I have come back to my world of no one,

Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry (via violentwavesofemotion)

[lifeinpoetry]

maybe my heart was hungrier than this.

Jeannine Hall Gailey, “The Note the Fox-Wife Leaves Him,” from She Returns to the Floating World (via 144-000)

[heartcountry]

“all my grief says the same thing:this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. and the world laughs. holds my hope by the throat. says:but this is how it is”

— Fortesa Latifi (via madgirlf)

[watchoutforintellect]

I must bridge the gap between adolescent glitter and mature glow.

Sylvia Plath - from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via watchoutforintellect)

[watchoutforintellect]

I am on fire. I see two thin streaks burn down my chin. I see myself as one would see another. I have been cut in two.

Anne Sexton, from For The Year of The Insane (via c-ovet)

[letheane-deactivated20200121]

I create entire romances in my dreams.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, from ‘White Nights’ (via aegeane)

[luthienne]

There are some things one remembers even though they may never have happened.

Harold Pinter, from Old Times (via luthienne)

[malglories]

“Women and monsters have a lot in common [..]. They are both outcasts; alienated, derided and feared by society. They are biological freaks with bodies that transgress and fluctuate, and they are both threats to male power.”

— Ellie Wriglesworth, The Harpy (via 581d00)

[wrotten]

by melina1965

[antigonick]

She was obeying an impulse, of course, as she always had done, from the beginning, throughout her life, following a whisper, a suggestion, that sprang into being from nowhere and mocked her afterwards.

Daphné du Maurier, Frenchman’s Creek (via dostevsky)

[dk-thrive]

For that’s what poetry is – a way to live through time. And sometimes, just for a while, to bring it back.

John Koethe, from “Ninety-Fifth Street,” Walking Backwards: Poems 1966–2016 (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2018)

[watchoutforintellect]

I was in bad shape, definitively broken. A broken clock that, because its metal heart continued to beat, was now breaking the time of everything else.

Elena Ferrante, from The Days of Abandonment (translated by Ann Goldstein)

[theclassicsreader]

To understand, I destroyed myself. To understand is to forget about loving.

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (via theclassicsreader)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I do not want anymore to be useful,

Mary Oliver, from New and Selected Poems; “Early Morning, My Birthday,” (via violentwavesofemotion)