the thought of you being with anyone other than me brings my blood to a boil. I curse the hand that touches you in my absence.
noise dept.
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RMH
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romaβ
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@queenofthedemigods
the thought of you being with anyone other than me brings my blood to a boil. I curse the hand that touches you in my absence.
do you hear them whisper? the wind carries the sound. if you listen closely, it's a sign. disappear disappear disappear. I love falling as the leaves fall.
Courtney Marie Andrews, from Old Monarch: Poems; βWatercolorβ
[Text ID: βIf I were a paint, Iβd be a watercolor. / Indecisive and hard to control, / no one wants to handle watercolors / unless they are brave, patient, or mad.β]
If I had nine lives
Iβd spend the first one drowning
feel the water seep into my lungs
stealing my oxygen and stripping my breath
maybe after I become unconscious,
Iβd find peace and would no longer fear the ocean.
I could spend the rest if my eight lives living by the water,
living with no fears.
For my next two Iβd spend each one with my parents,
living in their shadows,
learn their deepest secrets and listen to their regrets,
just so I donβt fuck up lives four through nine.
Iβll hold their hands gently and watch them take their last breath.
In my fourth life
Iβll run away, Iβll run away from myself,
the person I cannot change, because I am still too naive to understand that
I am all the things that are wrong with me.
Iβll chase butterflies and try to find myself,
Iβll look at all the wrong places, wrong cities, wrong people
and before I know what Iβve ran through three of my nine lives.
My seventh life
Iβll listen to my parents advice,
Iβll work a 9 to 5, make a stable income,
settle down with a man Iβm not sure Iβm in love with
but heβs a good father to my children.
We will have a white picket fence, red door and a big fluffy dog,
one that barks at the mailman.
For my eight life,
Iβll live it alone, Iβll write books,
live in a little apartment in New York City.
Spend my days writing in a cafe around the block from where I live,
and drink wine before bed.
Iβll do yoga and eat clean and have an occasional cigarette off my balcony.
Iβll raise a cat by myself and heβll watch me take my last breath before my last life.
In my final life
Iβll look for you
Iβll wait at bus stops
move back to our hometown,
try and find you at a shitty dive bar and write letters Iβll never send,
Iβll realise that after living eight lives
something was missing,
going about life without the person I loved made it all seem meaningless,
but I donβt have nine lives,
I just have this one,
So I guess Iβll spend it sitting by the ocean and waiting for you.
i'm sitting on my bed reading. itβs almost midnight. itβs summer. my window is open and the cool wind is blowing. it's cloudy but i can see the moon shining through the clouds. the crickets are very loud but very soothing. my room smells dusty and warm and no one else exists. the feeling never goes away. everything is quiet and i'm at peace.
βMorbid longing for the picturesque at all costsβ is such a banger line. Need that engraved on my tombstone.
Achilles sacrificing to Zeus for Patroclusβ safe return, from the Ambrosian Iliad, a 5th-century illuminated manuscript
i want to kiss your eyelids.
Female rage β Λqβΰ¨ΰ§Λ
Take me to the lake where all the poets went to die
An Observer.
An Observer.
Mary Oliver, "The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac." Blue Horses
what do you mean i canβt read every book, study every academic subject, taste every food, live in every city in every country, visit every museum, listen to every single song ever produced, learn every language, meet every interesting person, memorize every particle of knowledge to ever exist ???
β Paul Guest, from β1987.β
The school of rock is just dead poets society with a different font.
β Dion Anja, from Motion Sickness (2022)