ON MY PHONE

this is the first diary i've ever kept this close, probably because it only exists on my phone. i'm not very good but i'm here one way or another.

[pisceania]

i am thinking of all the ways

my hands can fit in your hands

and i find:

roadmaps inside darkness and

lullabies in silence and

scrapes under my feet and

seeds inside of figs and

the sky widens.

who was i

to think that i was empty?

[takemyrevolutions]

Rhiannon McGavin

[wholenessblooming]

Thich Nhat Hanh, from the book No Mud, No Lotus.

[primulaceas]

Richard Siken, A Primer for the Small Weird Loves

[yearningheart]

more on my substack <3

[geryone]

Beast at Every Threshold, Natalie Wee

[dourface]

shutting in. 

heather havrilesky // “last one up”, paul oxborough // from a letter to theo van gogh, vincent van gogh // on the beach at night alone (2017), dir. sang-soo hong // shauna niequist

[lifeinpoetry]

I am a dark bowl, waiting to be filled. If I open my mouth now, I could drown in the rain.

I hurry home as though someone is there waiting for me. The night collapses into your skin. I am the rain.

— Kazim Ali, from “Rain,” Pluck Me and Hum

[metamorphesque]

— Moshi Moshi, Banana Yoshimoto

[text ID: But life went on, even at times like this, and it was surprising how easy it was to keep going as though nothing had changed. I found it strange that I could walk down the street and appear normal, just like anyone else. That I could be in complete turmoil inside, and yet my reflection in a shop window could look the same as it ever had.]

[metamorphesque]

The world is entire, and I am outside of it, crying …  —

katrien de blauwer  /  edith sitwell  /  e. m. forster  /  anaïs nin  /  virginia woolf  /  h. g. wells

[heavensghost]

I’m sick even when I dream, Katie Maria

[goodbyedreamland]

“I think you grow up different, by the water. You grow up knowing there’s a way out.”

Girls on Fire - Robin Wasserman

[jacebeleren]

i think love is about finding people to be in the kitchen with

[gnossienne]

x

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Anne Sexton, from The Complete Poems of Anne Sexton; “Iron Hans,” wr. c. 1963

[metikut]

09/01/18

august added weight to our chests we all worked hard to wring out the sky it slicked us with lust like salt sheen so we drank hard cider got short, summer haircuts let soil roughen our hands only to go out dancing and place them, gently, on the nape of a sweet smelling neck then we went home and repainted our kitchens the color of those eyes we wanted to remember and waited for the birth of the apple tree, come september.

[wonting]