I and the one I was

A collection of poetry, quotes, thoughts, anything to make sense of this world: a writing blog. This work by Sarah Lee is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[feral-ballad]

Yanyi, from Dream of the Divided Field: Poems; “The Friend”

[Text ID: “stop fighting, but I am not / fighting. I am noticing / where I don’t exist. / I should leave.”]

[orpheuslament]

a lot of you know me for the "my psychiatrist asks me about friendship & i tell him about distance" excerpt but its been almost a year since i wrote it & the whole piece still resonates so i thought id share (x)

[previouslyknownas-soundobsession]

untitled

it's embarrassing to realize that after all these years I was but just a twinge of guilt whenever you looked at me.

[previouslyknownas-soundobsession]

6.6.21

constantly trying to find things to hold out for and live for is so tiring what are we all doing

[previouslyknownas-soundobsession]

6.20.19

It’s summer again. How is it that I’ve only become aware of summers in the past 6 years. The summer that stretches so long and snaps back, cracking your neck. Summer when you want to stretch underneath your monstera plant and unroll like a soft fern leaf, sinking into the striped sun that leaks into your room. summer when you remember in chronological order the boredom you felt in the basement of biomed, throwing mice into mazes and waiting to see when they’d peak their heads around the corner, the electricity you felt in the belly of new york when you for the first time found yourself alone and alone and alone, the repurposing you found when you began to reconnect with life and design and pattern and meaning, the absolute deadness you fell into when you dragged your feet to work in sterile choked up rooms and walked slowly home as the air stuck to your face and clothes and eyes, and now, this odd stability, this weird stagnation, this unfamiliar anticipation of wiggling your toes on the springboard right before jumping into a pool you can never drink all of, radioactive waste, caged ambition, the fear of being lonely but craving being alone, who do you blame at this point, there is no scapegoat except for you. 

[minuty]

It was a privilege to love you, and it was a privilege to let you go. Both helped shape me into the person I have become.

(via minuty)

[adrasteiax]

I think I can remember being dead. Many times, in winter,

Louise Glück, from Persephone The Wanderer in “Poems 1962-2012″ (via adrasteiax)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I don’t have any secrets anymore, I am a woman now and walk alone the sea, at dawn.

Félix de Azúa, tr. by Daniel Nelson, from “From Farra,” wr. c. 1972 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

The special hours, the scent of setting suns, the profound darkness of the twilight air on streets without return.

Manuel Vázquez Montalbán, from “Quand Vous Seraiz Bien Vieille,” c. 1971 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[previouslyknownas-soundobsession]

12.9.18

you lie in bed with someone you love, their head is buried in the pillow next to you  their chest rising ever so slightly with each crest of their sleeping breath

and you lie awake feeling so alone 

[previouslyknownas-soundobsession]

and like this the days are washing by 

[previouslyknownas-soundobsession]

i am too much and never enough

[previouslyknownas-soundobsession]

when things are peaceful i become nervous the crashing of a wave feels more familiar than the lull of the trough that follows 

[previouslyknownas-soundobsession]

there’s a little boy crouched in the corner of the kitchen praying 

[previouslyknownas-soundobsession]

but if i disappeared off the face of the planet do i have the right to come back 

[previouslyknownas-soundobsession]

don’t be what want to 

[previouslyknownas-soundobsession]

imposter syndrome

i keep books only to pretend to read them