a poem a day to keep the blues at bay

poetry blog 🌙 by sai liuko🌙 get in loser we're writing poems

[kvothes]

maybe in general i’m just suspicious of things being taken out of context and a single line of poetry standing alone is so sad like. where is your family. do u need help

[devilwithaslice]

[solelypoesy]

— dorothy parker

[wovi]

when georges bataille wrote, “no greater desire exists than a wounded person’s need for another wound” & when gillian flynn wrote, “a child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort” & when ocean vuong wrote, “sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you’ve been ruined” & when lisa m. basile wrote, “did you inherit a sickness? did you blame god? do you believe in god? do you believe in yourself? are you still on fire? did you ever put out the fire?” & when stephen a. guirgis wrote, “why didn't you make me good enough so that you could’ve loved me?”

[wovi]

*

ada limón, lucky wreck

[heavensghost]

Averno, Louise Glück

[weltenwellen]

Wislawa Szymborska, from “Nothing’s a Gift”, View with a Grain of Sand: Selected Poems

[gnostick-deactivated20210607]

understanding poetry is very simple. poems are good when they make you sit on your kitchen floor and scream

[weltenwellen]

Alysse Kathleen McCanna, from “Success That Is Partly The Results Of Chance; Or, An Uncertain Course Of Events” 

[wovi]

when georges bataille wrote, “no greater desire exists than a wounded person’s need for another wound” & when gillian flynn wrote, “a child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort” & when ocean vuong wrote, “sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you’ve been ruined” & when lisa m. basile wrote, “did you inherit a sickness? did you blame god? do you believe in god? do you believe in yourself? are you still on fire? did you ever put out the fire?” & when stephen a. guirgis wrote, “why didn't you make me good enough so that you could’ve loved me?”

[wovi]

*

ada limón, lucky wreck

[weltenwellen]

Ocean Vuong, from “Deto(nation)”, Night Sky with Exit Wounds

[solelypoesy]

BARBIE MANIFESTO

I’m gonna see the Barbie movie tonight because I had a feminist mother who didn’t buy us Barbies and when I said I wanted to be a nurse, she said why don’t you be a doctor, but I really did want to be a nurse because of the perky hats they got to wear, bobby-pinned to their sleek, shiny hair, and I’m going to wear pink to the Barbie movie, hot pink, the color of cheap candy, like the chalky sugar cigarettes we pretended to smoke with their fake red tips, and I’m going to squeal like a cheerleader on Ecstasy, I’m going to be silly and girly and super excited, and all the things you were never supposed to be, because doing anything like a girl–running, or throwing, or thinking or writing or talking, is the worst insult— an icky, sticky, oozing, bleeding, shrill, smelly girlie-girl. It means you’re not smart, or cool. You cry when they throw footballs at your chest which my boyfriend did in high school because he wanted to help me toughen up. It means you’ll be laughed at and dismissed, so I’ve acted serious and intelligent and tough for about a thousand years, just to prove them all wrong, but now I’m begging to be dismissed—please! Dismiss me, so I can lounge by the pool in a bright pink bikini while some Ken bring me drinks with little umbrellas. Because I’m tired of proving my point. I don’t remember what my point is anyway, or the point of this whole thing in the first place— men, women, who cares? I just want to hide under the bed with my best friend and a flashlight, constructing secret worlds we can live in forever. I want to grow old on Planet Girl, painting each of my stubby fingernails a different color of neon. I have pretended I sprang fully-grown from the forehead of my father, bristling with armor. I have worn olive drab and camouflaged the delight I once took in smearing myself with Vaseline and admiring my new little breast-buds in the midnight mirror. I have done all the right things, I have feigned interest in what bored me, I have feigned politeness. I have pretended that my inner organs are not all glistening pink, my heart and my liver and my lungs. Pink as your own tongue, or the pads of your feet, or your palms.

— Alison Luterman (from Rattle)

[solelypoesy]

[taohun]

who’s up thinking about after the threesome they both take you home by sue hyon bae i’m thinking about after the threesome they both take you home by sue hyon bae

[taohun]

normal time. im having it

[spudcity]

Backwards

The poem can start with him walking backwards into a room. He takes off his jacket and sits down for the rest of his life; that’s how we bring Dad back. I can make the blood run back up my nose, ants rushing into a hole. We grow into smaller bodies, my breasts disappear, your cheeks soften, teeth sink back into gums. I can make us loved, just say the word. Give them stumps for hands if even once they touched us without consent, I can write the poem and make it disappear. Step-Dad spits liquor back into glass, Mum’s body rolls back up the stairs, the bone pops back into place, maybe she keeps the baby. Maybe we’re okay kid? I’ll rewrite this whole life and this time there’ll be so much love, you won’t be able to see beyond it.

You won’t be able to see beyond it, I’ll rewrite this whole life and this time there’ll be so much love. Maybe we’re okay kid, maybe she keeps the baby. Mum’s body rolls back up the stairs, the bone pops back into place, Step-Dad spits liquor back into glass. I can write the poem and make it disappear, give them stumps for hands if even once they touched us without consent, I can make us loved, just say the word. Your cheeks soften, teeth sink back into gums we grow into smaller bodies, my breasts disappear. I can make the blood run back up my nose, ants rushing into a hole, that’s how we bring Dad back. He takes off his jacket and sits down for the rest of his life. The poem can start with him walking backwards into a room.

– Warsan Shire

[sofhtie]

i like the tumblr girl poetry fragments as much as the next girlie but i must say. some lose soso much without the rest of the poem :(

[solelypoesy]

[metamorphesque]

— Mary Oliver, "What I Have Learned So Far"

[metamorphesque]

— Anne Sexton, Imitations of Drowning