#latenightcornerstore

[causings]

i’m mad at a boy because i broke his heart

he was always the patient and i, unintentionally, the surgeon

i’m not angry because he feels hurt, i get it

(trust me, i get it)

what made me mad is that he knew me only a fraction of the time that i knew u, yet looked at me like i put the stars in the sky and the water in the sea

(don’t tell him this, but i was never really god-like)

we were grain of salt compared to the mountain of sediment u and i laid together on

i’m angry because he felt a fraction of the most pain i’ve ever felt

and he still chastised me for it

what i wanted him to do was thank me

to recognize not all things work out

to recognize that i put him through only a minuscule amount of hell, when i could have done much worse

i wanted him

to get down on his knees and say:

“my savior, my savior

i will not let u become a graveyard

i won’t;

thank u for not letting me overstay my welcome

thank u for shutting the doors on us

and letting me know it was never meant to be

even though i refused to see it”

i wanted him to praise me for doing all the things u never did

i wanted him to be grateful

i let him go as gently as i could because i learned what not to do

from u

i will hold a needless grudge against that boy for the rest of my life

because i always wanted him to look at me and know, without me having to say it, that i am forever ruined by u

[peepingnee]

“The first time he calls you holy, you laugh it back so hard your sides hurt. The second time, you moan gospel around his fingers between your teeth. He has always surprised you into surprising yourself. Because he’s an angel hiding his halo behind his back and nothing has ever felt so filthy as plucking the wings from his shoulders— undressing his softness one feather at a time. God, if you’re out there, if you’re listening, he fucks like a seraphim, and there’s no part of scripture that ever prepared you for his hands. Hands that map a communion in the cradle of your hips. Hands that kiss hymns up your sides. He confesses how long he’s looked for a place to worship and,oh, you put him on his knees. When he sinks to the floor and moans like he can’t help himself, you wonder if the other angels fell so sweet. He says his prayers between your thighs and you dig your heels into the base of his spine until he blushes the color of your filthy tongue. You will ruin him and he will thank you; he will say please. No damnation ever looked as cozy as this, but you fit over his hips like they were made for you.You fit, you fit, you fit. On top of him, you are an ancient god that only he remembers and he offers up his skin. And you take it. Who knew sacrifice was so profane? And once you’ve taught him how to hold your throat in one hand and your heart in the other, you will have forgotten every other word, except his name.”

Profane - Ashe Vernon

Thank you to the wonderful @latenightcornerstore for permission to record their lovely words

[solenelmar]

an incomplete list of poetry quotes i can’t ever forget about, pt. 3:

(pts. 1 & 2)

·”Sing like your skin / is not humming with / “I’m sorry”s; promise / never to offer the / soft of you to those / who would call you / weak for letting / them see it, in all its / stunning vulnerability.” from “those who dare be women, come with me”, Emma Bleker.

·”There are people in this / world that will make words / you thought you understood / burn beneath your tongue / like firecrackers; I hope you / hold them close. I hope you / keep all their fire alive / within you.” from “keeping warm in all this cold weather”, Emma Bleker.

·”Before you, there / was no burning, / only fear of fire. [...] Before this, there / was no loving, only / fear of hurt.” from “words i am learning to pronunce”, Emma Bleker.

·”You have to understand, when it hurt to love her, it hurt the way the light hurts your eyes in the middle of the night, but I had to see.” from Andrea Gibson’s poetry.

·”There are poets who sing you to sleep and poets who ready you for war and I want to be both.” from Ashe Vernon’s poetry.

·”Some beekeepers speak the language of bees; / some speak the language of honey.” from “Skinny”, Meggie Royer.

·”When I was young, my grandmother taught me the shortest distance / between two people is the distance they are willing to walk / to reach one another.” from “on having sex with strangers just to feel okay”, Meggie Royer.

·”Virginia, I still mistake the sadness inside my head for a flood / when sometimes it’s just a current I can learn to ride.” from “Plea to Virginia Woolf”, Meggie Royer.

·”There are poems / inside of you / that paper can’t / handle.” from Yasmin Z.’s poetry (@heartcountry).

·”and when it hurts to swallow down all the pain, / I’ll kiss your neck so it goes down easier, [...] even after I’m dead / and I’ll tell all the other ghosts / about your holy mouth, / and they’ll want to kiss you so bad, / they’ll come back to life.” from Yasmin Z.’s poetry (@heartcountry).

·”i want to be so complete / i could light a whole city / and then / i want to have you / cause the two of / us combined / could set it / on fire.” from “complete”, rupi kaur.

[haleyincarnate]

Excerpt from “FIRST” by Ashe Vernon (@latenightcornerstore), featured in their poetry collection Belly of the Beast

[eloquentfragments]

favorite poetry blogs?

Okay, I definitely have a ton, but here are some (in no particular order): alonesomes, cgcpoems, wildfairy, tristamateer, heartcountry, latenightcornerstore, fleurishes, heartmagician, meanwhilepoetry and there are probably more I’m missing! 

[phantomsmistress]

Dear Ophelia, My flower-crowned child, you were too young to have already learned the cruelty men are capable of. There is rosemary dripping through your hair, remembering sunlight cascading over your youth. Gentle memories gathering in puddles at your feet when cool water was something to look forward to. You have filled my body with pansies and fennel, and I will harbor gently your last thoughts rippling towards summer. Forget, sweet girl, the sweet nothings  boys have whispered  to make meat of you. You are more than what your body has to offer, and these things you cannot drown. My current will carry away the last of the columbine and with it, all the deaths you have already suffered at the hands of unconcerned lovers. The rue will flood my edges, our tears mingling, unnoticed, sinking out of sight. Your unwarranted sorrow already drifting away. Worry not, Ophelia. Daisies will grow on my banks near the roots of the willow. I would give you some violets, but they all withered when you died.

A Letter to Ophelia from the River, Natasha C. 

[natalieweepoetry]

new conceptual project: dreaming of a better year

[haleyincarnate]

Excerpt from “SPEAKING OF LOVE” by Ashe Vernon (@latenightcornerstore), featured in their poetry collection Belly of the Beast