[loveridden1999]

to the young who want to die by gwendolyn brooks

[sophsun1]

Howl's Moving Castle (2004) dir. Hayao Miyazaki

[sparklingspirals]

all the roads lead back to the loneliness ive felt ever since i was a child

[iiumz]

[mournfulroses]

Salma Deera, from a poem titled "a girl makes a decision: part 2," featured in Letters from Medea: Poems

[feral-ballad]

Donika Kelly, from The Renunciations: Poems; “From The Catalogue of Cruelty”

[weltenwellen]

Ocean Vuong, from “To My Father / To My Future Son”, Night Sky with Exit Wounds

[havingapoemwithyou]

Checkout by Caroline Bird

[o66e]

[feral-ballad]

Jihyun Yun, from Some Are Always Hungry; “Reversal”

[Text ID: “I so want to survive this. Please lead me whole into another season so I may dare begin again.”]

[orpheuslament]

Ritual Is Journey, Chris Abani

[inkskinned]

oh, i am finally old enough to know why my parents took so long to grab their coats. why they would ask us to get ready to go only to sit down for another round of coffee. what would i tell myself, at 10 years old? it’s okay. sit down with them too. take in the extra hour with your friend and her family. when you get home, write down every moment in your diary. one day you will be older and you will be waving goodbye to your best friend, and you will turn the key to start your beat up little car engine, and you will look back over your shoulder. her hair will be blowing in the wind and she will be beautiful and you will be, for a moment, struck by all of it. what you will feel is so wide and nameless that it will engulf you. and you will think of being 14 and kicking her under the table in math every time you wanted to whisper something behind the teacher’s back. you will think about how long the days felt, and how you could hold her hand whenever you wished, but you didn’t. and you will think about all of the people you could have lingered with. and you will wish, more than you have ever felt a wish, that the universe just gave you that - more time to linger. more time to say - i love you. i know i need to leave, but i don’t want to leave you. and when i go, i am leaving a piece of my heart that lingers too. 

one more round of coffee. the days are so short, and you are so lovely.

[bakwaaas]

“The number of hours we have together is actually not so large. Please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.” (mikko harvey)

[throughmy-eyez]

i wasn’t put on this earth to dilute the love i have to give.

[kagxme]

on the devotion between friends

i will always - the cranberries, my friend - hayley williams, radio silence - alice oseman, @inkskinned, euripides - anne carson, @honeytuesday, the kids aren't alright - fall out boy, anonymous

[inkskinned]

when you're younger you make fun of it because it seems boring but one of the best parts of getting older and maturing is recognizing how simply lovely all that cliche shit is. sunsets really are so endlessly satisfying. the hint of lilacs in the breeze really is soft and delicate and sweet. sometimes it feels good just to successfully clean the sink, to find an affordable appliance in the color you've been wanting, to try a new recipe, to finally get through that one television series like how you've been meaning.

it seemed stupid because they tell you - it'll feel quick - but it does feel quick. when i was younger it was like time was molasses. i couldn't get out of there fast enough. all the eras of my life stretched out into taffy. but then you are 29 on a walk with a friend and you both just stop to smell the lily of the valley at your feet. you are both standing there, quiet, enjoying the simple moment of peace.

they say it gets better a lot, which used to have no meaning to me. better for me was undefined and daunting. but here is one way it got better without me trying - a few days ago i was walking my dog and stopped to stand in a sunbeam, turning my cheeks up at the shaft of golden fairylights, the dustmotes in the wood all shivering their little dancing bodies. a stranger stopped and kind of cocked her head and said basking? and i laughed nervously, already moving to get out of her way. instead, she said can i bask with you? and we stood there, full adults, a soundless hum in our chest. when the clouds came back over the sun, we made that awkward small talk - yeah i didn't expect it to be this chilly! and haha spring allergies are comin'.

and you pour yourself a cup of tea and are delighted when you measure the sugar ratio perfectly and you manage to parallel park correctly on the first time (probably because nobody was looking) and yoga really did help your lower back mobility and brown paper packages really do tug on your heartstrings and you love sweaters and furry blankets and watching your little potted plants grow one new and shining leaf and you want to find your younger self and say. yes, i am nostalgic for summers that bent like wheat and were buzzing with low energy and sleep. but darling. adulthood gets better because the time condenses into a prayerbook of your own psalms, these tender beautiful memories. it gets better because things become prettier, gentler, kinder to you - somehow. without you even noticing. you just get to the top of the hill and you realize - oh, this is the thing i've been missing.

[serratedpens]

Analicia Sotelo, “My Mother as the Face of God”

[inkskinned]

mom can you come get me things are getting bad again and i feel every insult like a sharp tooth and i feel my dreams rotting under my fingernails and i feel too much all the time or else i feel nothing at all and it doesn’t seem to matter if i drink and dance and party or if i stay at home curled up to study

mom are you sure when i was born i was a person and not just a vortex. always hungry. always swallowing. no matter how much goes in me i always end up empty.

[inkskinned]

hi mom it’s me again. it’s mother’s day and it’s been five years since i wrote this and i’m still sitting on the floor and still writing poetry but i’ve moved to a different city. you and i are making plans to go see the lilacs and i keep thinking about this one wednesday where i’d had a class talking about eulogies and it made me sad and sick so i called you to say i love you and i appreciate everything you’ve done for me & you were so worried by that. by the fact that i never tell you how much i love you. you got scared because you thought it meant something bad was happening.

i know it’s just how our family is. we never talk about this kind of thing. we show up for each other but never say it and i should say it more. i should tell you that i know you checked and when you saw that you’ve given birth to a vortex and not a child you still said: well this thing that is always lonely and hungry and sad and empty…. this is still mine.

rabbit mothers pull out the fur from their chest to line a warren and i keep thinking about how sometimes you talk about the ways you’re hungry too, how your teeth hurt with desire, how you gave up your fur to line our home and how we walked with our hands on the wall. i don’t even think it’s that you’re my mom i think it’s that you’re you, and that everyone needs a person like you in their life, or otherwise the whole thing catches on fire. and i think maybe you saw my bellybutton and you saw the ways i am you-but-younger and i remember one time we were in the kitchen and you closed your eyes and said your deepest regret was passing your depression on, that you’d never wanted any of us to feel something like this, a hollowness that carries no sound or echo

i wake up spitting out fur and i wake up kicking my feet and i am finding a timid kind of rabbit peace. good morning mom i’m going to come get you so we can walk in the sunshine and i am going to come get you so we can build a soft home in braided hair and i am going to come get you to tell you i am sorry for being ravenous and then we are both going to stretch our legs out on the grass and we are going to eat until all the little angry embers in our blood turn into diamonds and we are going to eat until the numbness feels like a half-remembered song and we are going to eat until we are both full to the brim so that when we turn our cheeks to the sky it feels like the happiness could slosh out if we move too quick. we will eat, and it will be tomorrow, and we will both make a point to clean out the rot from our hearts. after all, it’s spring.