
titsay

#extradirty

Janaina Medeiros

JBB: An Artblog!
One Nice Bug Per Day

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oozey mess

⁂

Kiana Khansmith
YOU ARE THE REASON
Claire Keane
Cosmic Funnies

shark vs the universe
sheepfilms
RMH

Origami Around
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Cosimo Galluzzi
dirt enthusiast
will byers stan first human second
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@snarlyneon
To say “I’ve never loved anything the way I love you” would be a lie. Before we met, there were days I did not believe you existed. I had more love than this body could hold & Mama had always said, give what you don’t need. So I gave it away to dog park pitbulls & summer orchids & old books that smelled like promises. Handed it out like grocery store flyers to seashell whorls & boys with fist-shaped mouths aimed for the walls of my chest & girls who kissed with the desperate thrash of salmon on silver hooks and still I had so much love. For years I offered myself to scraped knees & nails bitten down to bone & lonely parking lots, & no matter what I did there was nothing I loved enough to feel it back. I was born an ocean and I emptied it into hearts too small for the overspill, evacuated and left me behind. Silly me. I mistook lighthouses for the moon, dressed up impermanence for decades. And then you. You, with arms the breadth of deep space, discovered the part of the eye that converts belief into light. You are not the sun or the moon, but the hand clasped in mine while we watch clouds shaped like starships trailing maps in the night sky. I have no use for luminaries. It is your voice in the dark that reminds me nothing need be seen that cannot be felt. I have no use for sight. It is your lips on my neck reminding me to keep one last thing for myself.
“Hide and Seek”, natalie wee
My senses are addicted to, a discreet desire to Observe such, Heal such Behave such that makes this hard for me I'm not real and I deny, I won't heal unless I cry I can't grieve so I won't grow, I won't heal 'til I let it go Cry, cry, cry 'til you know why, I lost myself, identify
Pius Bak @piusbak #viaCurioos
the future is female.
We’re all in this together, and if everyone agreed to say I’m sorry or Excuse me when it counted, the world be a little less of a seven-billion person frat party hurdling through space.
"I'm sorry you were unable to find the light you so graciously shone unto others. I hope you are somewhere safe and quiet, basking in the afterglow of a life spent in service of others."
This year’s kisses like diving a hundred times from a moving train into the harbour like diving a hundred times from a moving train into the harbour
Michael Ondaatje, from “Well,″ Handwriting: Poems (via lifeinpoetry)
Entry to the Labors of spring I. Heart larger than the body, leaping from all sides at once and collapsing from all sides, back over the body like a shower of lava, you, content larger than form, here’s self-knowledge, here’s why suffering matter takes birth from itself: so it can die. Only he dies who knows himself, only he is born who is his own witness. I need to run, I told myself, but to do that first I should pivot my soul toward my unmoving ancestors, who have withdrawn into the towers of their bones, like marrow, unmoved like all things taken to their end. I can run, because they are inside me. I will run, because only what is unmoved in itself can move, only he who is alone in himself has company and knows the unrevealed heart will collapse more powerfully toward its own center or, shattered into planets, will surrender to fauna and flora, or will lie beneath the pyramids, like the hidden stomach of a strange beast. II. Everything is simple, so simple that it becomes incomprehensible. Everything is so close, so close, that it slips behind the eyes and is seen no more. Everything is so perfect in spring, that only by surrounding it with myself can I mark it, like expanding grass marked by words for the speaking mouth, marked by the mouth of the heart, by the heart to its seed, to that unmoved in itself, identical to the pit of the earth that extends from itself infinite gravitational arms and draws everything into itself and suddenly into an embrace so powerful that through its arms leaps movement. III. I will run, therefore, in every direction at once, I will run after my own heart, like a chariot simultaneously pulled in every direction by whipped horses. IV. I will run until advance, until rush itself passes me and pulls further ahead of me like the fruit’s skin from its seed, until running will run even within itself, and be still. And I will collapse over it like a young man onto his lover. V. And once I have let running pass me by, once movement within itself is still like stone, or better, like mercury behind the glass of a mirror, I will see inside all things, I will embrace them with myself, all things at once, and they will throw me back, once all that was thing in me has been change, over time, into things. VI. See me remaining what I am, with flags of loneliness, with shields of chill, back toward myself I run, pulling myself from everywhere, pulling myself from myself before, behind myself, on my right and my lift, above and underneath myself, departing from everywhere and giving to everywhere signs that will bring me to mind: to the sky - stars, the earth - air shadows - branches and budding leaves. VII. .. odd body, asymmetrical, surprised by itself in the presence of spheres, surprised to stand before the sun, waiting patiently for light to grow a body to fit. VIII. To keep yourself with your own earth when you are a seed, when winter liquefies its white, long bones and spring arises. To keep yourself with your own land when, O human, you are alone, when you are battered by unlove, or simply when winter decomposes and spring moves its spherical space like the heart from itself toward the edge. To enter purely into the labor of spring, to tell seeds they are seeds. to tell earth it is earth! But first of all we are the seeds, we are those seen from all sides at once, as though we lived inside an eye, or a field, where instead of grass gazes grow - and we suddenly hard, almost metallic, cut the blades down with ourselves, so they will be like every thing among which we live and to which our heart gave birth. But first of all, we are the seeds and we prepare within ourselves to throw ourselves into something much higher, into something that has the name of spring… To be inside phenomena, always inside phenomena. To be a seed and keep yourself with your own earth.
Nichita Stãnescu, The Eleventh Elegy (via yesyes)
Sit down. Inhale. Exhale. The gun will wait. The lake will wait. The tall gall in the small seductive vial will wait will wait: will wait a week: will wait through April. You do not have to die this certain day. Death will abide, will pamper your postponement. I assure you death will wait. Death has a lot of time. Death can attend to you tomorrow. Or next week. Death is just down the street; is most obliging neighbor; can meet you any moment. You need not die today. Stay here–through pout or pain or peskyness. Stay here. See what the news is going to be tomorrow. Graves grow no green that you can use. Remember, green’s your color. You are Spring.”
Gwendolyn Brooks, To the Young Who Want to Die (via mangoestho)
Look, it’s spring. And last year’s loose dust has turned into this soft willingness. The wind-flowers have come up trembling, slowly the brackens are up-lifting their curvaceous and pale bodies. The thrushes have come home, none less than filled with mystery, sorrow, happiness, music, ambition. And I am walking out into all of this with nowhere to go and no task undertaken but to turn the pages of this beautiful world over and over, in the world of my mind. * * * Therefore, dark past, I’m about to do it. I’m about to forgive you for everything.
Mary Oliver, A Settlement (via yesyes)
“Single people want relationships, settled people wonder if they’re missing out on something, traveling types miss stability, stable ones are restless, old friends want new friends, new friends miss old friends, and basically almost everyone my age has some dangling worry trailing around after them everywhere that they’re somehow not doing everything, that what they’re doing is not altogether the right thing, that they are missing out. … Do not be ashamed. The doubt is natural, and everyone you know – yes, even that person – carries it sometimes too. Allow yourself to be peaceful. Allow yourself satisfaction in what you have. If you really don’t like it, allow yourself permission to make changes.” — Lillian Schneid
Panic comes in lots of flavours. It can run the gamut from a gnawing unease in the belly to a fear that feels like being hit by a bullet train. My usual cocktail is a wormy prickling from head to toe, a blanched face, constricted lungs, numb hands and a lurching gut. I feel like I’m going to vomit or shit myself at any second. I have done the former but not, as yet, the latter – despite coming pretty close. It’s a lovely old dance, really.
How It Actually Feels To Live With Severe Anxiety (via unicornology)
abandoned love series by peytonfulford