melodrama @realgoodkid - Tumblr Blog

petaltexturedskies

You will freeze in place if you remain this way. You must not, dear. You have to move.

Rainer Maria Rilke, in a letter to Sidonie Nádherná, dated 1 August 1913

koisher

it's always so funny to see a bug just fucking booking it across the floor. like girl where are you going. bug plans

ashstfu

remembering someone’s name after a single mention, listening without interrupting, being funny without being mean, being unafraid to chase your passions, holding yourself accountable, being kind without being a doormat, compassion, being open to learning even if you already know so much, taking risks & making mistakes

cat-government

fluffball exposed

feral-ballad

Caitlin Bailey, from Solve for Desire: Poems; “To G, after the party”

[Text ID: “I wonder / what it would have felt like to / have a choice, to choose love, / to hold anything with both hands. / It’a taken me this long / to say I want I want I want,”]

lovely-abeille-deactivated20241

a questionnaire, noor unnahar // haunted womanhood, heather havrilesky // lamb's head on a plate, viggo johansen // citizen illegal, josé olivarez // grief lessons: four plays by euripides; tr., anne carson

letsbeapoemtogether

I died a lot to live a little with you.

Yaghma Golroei

wovi

*

hanif abdurraqib

weltenwellen

Nicole W. Lee, from "Even the Dust"

lunamonchtuna

— Mary Oliver, from The Gardener (via lunamonchtuna)

aconissa

Shirley Jackson, We Have Always Lived in the Castle Vincent van Gogh, Garden at Arles (1888)

weltenwellen

Carol Rifka Brunt, Tell the Wolves I’m Home

havingapoemwithyou

lullaby on mount moriah by Traci Brimhall

boykeats

[ID: poem text reading,

"The lullaby I wrote on your throat about the stained hilt of the knife in my hand begins—Whisper, or snow will come and make its sadness famous in your mouth.

The why of you a radiant devilfish, the what of you a fat little soul blueing at the edges.

The surest way to receive a free ram is to tie your son’s hands behind his back. Offer me a metaphor, God said. Abraham stretched Isaac out on a rock, Like this?

Do not be impatient with the gift. It will bleed out in the time it takes shadows and atoms to inch their way between stars.

Every fire thinks it’s a part of God, but lightning is not a promise, a flag is not a shield. Love wants you to believe that somewhere there’s a god that can

do your dying for you. There are raptures that won’t come for you and the raptures that will.

In between, satellites blink the news to the lights in our hands. Love will teach you many things, most of them tragic—

like last kisses and letters under your windshield, like helplessness, like the man on the news weeping and carrying what remains of his son in a plastic bag.

And Abraham said, This is how much I love you, and measured Isaac from ankle to scalp. Love will gut you and then ask

you to carry on singing with light on your tongue as a father finds flies crowning his son’s dreamless head radiant as the hand of God ushering a late sheep from the bushes."

/end ID]