Da Fen

Theme under heavy construction Indie DAI OC Mariel Mihhra Virelan'alas'ala-Lavellan

[everkings]

not dead; getting better.

[jolykujoh]

[ambrosien-blog]

“SHIT!”

[sadhaja-blog]

A hastily scrawled note is tied to a bottle of spiced wine. "Have fun. -R"

What’s this? A bottle of wine? One, single, lonely, bottle? Reading the attached note, Mariel rolls her eyes. That handwriting is definitely Reva’s.

She picks up the bottle and looks it over. Well, he doesn’t seem to have spared any expense, but just how much fun does he expect her to have with one solitary bottle of wine? He should know by now how much this tank of an elf can drink.

Still, she finds herself smiling and opening the bottle. It smells like it’s the good stuff.

[bostonpoetryslam]

I open my chest and birds flock out. In my mother’s garden, the roses flare toward the sun, but I am an arrow pointing back.

Cathy Linh Che, “Pomegranate,” featured by the Poetry Society of America (via bostonpoetryslam)

[sadhaja-blog]

Photos of Mariel 2/??

[sadhaja-blog]

lms if u want an angry elf in ur inbox

[sadhaja-blog]

Photos of Mariel, 1/??

[bostonpoetryslam]

Do not worship at the altar of the Church of Close Enough. You were named your name. You were not named Could’ve Been or Never Was. There will be people who do less than you with more. There will be people who do more than you with more. There will be people who make your grasping and failures look like grasping and failure. Do not let them change your name to Bitterness.

Tonight’s Cantab feature is two-time National Poetry Slam finalist Eirean Bradley! This is from his poem “To My Son On His Eighteenth Birthday,” published in the journal he co-runs, Drunk in a Midnight Choir (via bostonpoetryslam)

[bostonpoetryslam]

i am in something we call ‘open air.’ someone has turned the volume up on human movement, and i find myself standing on subway platforms just to feel at home. waking up every day is the golden chore.

Elaine Hsiang, “28,may / new york,” published in Maps for Teeth (via bostonpoetryslam)

[bostonpoetryslam]

I don’t understand where on my body to keep these feelings I might grow a new tooth for each of them and then afterwards tie them to the doorway with red string and have someone pull the door closed

Kimmy Walters, “Tiny Nature,” from Uptalk (via bostonpoetryslam)

[bostonpoetryslam]

i feel like i am all arms in my insides. i feel like i am arms becoming more arms and then fists when i don’t know how to hold or when i can’t reach. i think i am always reaching.

Jess Rizkallah, “IDK,” from If You’re Reading This I’m Probably Still Yelling (via bostonpoetryslam)

[bostonpoetryslam]

You were so excited to grow up back then. So ready to be the person you are now. What happened? Did the world snap shut on your fingertips one too many times? Did take and deserve get so mixed up in your heart that you forgot how to cut through the tall grass? Does sunset mean anything beyond the restless turning of another empty day? Do you live in a house now instead of a home?

Melissa Newman-Evans, “Em,” published in Maps for Teeth (via bostonpoetryslam)

[bostonpoetryslam]

There is no flowering in my mind, no flower names, no prairies, no plains, no greenery. One tree, no leaves, two birds. No words for birds.

Camille Rankine, “Still Life Mechanical,” published in Narrative Magazine (via bostonpoetryslam)

[bostonpoetryslam]

have they stopped / whispering the dead thing’s name yet? / I was promised / the brick’s heavy kiss / would spread me thin / over where they killed the boy / and then I would become the new / dead thing / to grow ripe in every mouth

Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib, “After the Cameras Leave, In Three Parts (II. The Convenience Store’s Broken Glass Speaks),” published in PEN America (via bostonpoetryslam)

[bostonpoetryslam]

you can lie for your whole life. you can lie to anyone with the right face. fill your body with precious metals. drink something burning in your sleep and wake up hungry for smoke. tell me what’s behind the curtain—is it another man like you?

Sophia Holtz, “a dead girl by the water,” published in Nailed Magazine (via bostonpoetryslam)

[bostonpoetryslam]

Promises are the most impressive magic trick Did you see when that man performed the one called “Forever” We all asked How did you do it, what kind of mirror does it take?

Meghan Privitello, “Come In, We’re Open,” published in Swarm Quarterly (via bostonpoetryslam)

[bostonpoetryslam]

Sometimes, you just want something so bad you have to lie about it, so you can hold it in your mouth for a minute, how real hunger has a real taste.

Ada Limón, “Lies About Sea Creatures,” from Bright Dead Things (via bostonpoetryslam)