#on enduring

[inkpressedpetals]

[nadielle]

— Sheep In Fog by Sylvia Plath.

[charles-jpg]

to love is to endure | charles leclerc

[sinligh]

It’s late July, A lost breath of soulful desperation bled half the year that has passed over my eyes, painting a veil like fabric that blinded me mercifully.

can time really heal anything? I’ve been struggling with digesting all that it stored for me…

My cruel heart is only a result of the ignorance that i built brick by brick from its remnants

I even named the process defensive mechanism.

It’s early august, I’ve held on to a routine for as long as i can, living off of small accomplishments; cause what’s the alternative?

Prisesstant melancholy? Undoubtable anguish?

I became insensitive to time passage, like a child that never knew health only saw it as a blanketing apology covering everyone they love.

a child that can vividly touch the heaviness of the life they’ll carry for as long as they’re allowed to.

I’ve been accumulating feelings like corpses that are waiting to be identified in a morgue.

frozen above my brainstem, that until the heat of the summer caused them to melt and overlap into a storming ocean; leaving little versions of me to drown in their waves

and I as a helpless outsider watching from a coast and hoping i could pour all of this in one single poem, or maybe aspire it all like you’d do a patient with fluids in their lungs: Thoracentesis.

And use it as a supply to wash away the catatonic rage that flows through my veins.

reality is ringing it’s bell inside the cavity where my eyes should be, and even though i can hear it.

It’s taking me longer than I thought it would to reach; cause thats all i can do.. try.

I measure my self value interchangeably with all the pieces of me i left behind to comfort others.

That and all the leftovers of my mother’s life.

My soul is constantly tugging.

Tugging, tugging, tugging. Never in the same direction but it’s still clear that it wishes to be free from me.

Emotionally attached to this and that to her and him

But they’re never enough; i never am…

And I’m so tired of it all, the never ending self loathing.

But to whom do I confess ?

Who would acknowledge my longing, Who will embrace my infelicitous desire to be held together or even just touched,

an innocent reminder of my existence, to ease me into being a human again, especially after I starved myself for the sake of nourishing others.

•••

•Quotes: Louis Tomlinson/ Taylor swift/ Henry Miller/ Rainer Maria Rilke/Helen Oyeyemi/Anne Sexton/Franz Kafka/Susan Sontag

•Original context: Sinligh

•Art reference:

1. Timothy Archer - The blue rider. 2. The Train by Ben McLaughlin. 3. Paintings by Raymond BonillaRaymond. 4. Ottoman Beauty with a Butterfly by Harold H. Piffard. 5. Side Light by Quang Ho. 6. Painting by Alex Kanevsky. 7. Fine Morning by Sally Strand. 8.painting by Steven J. Levin

[amiablesummer]

I must endure.

e.e. cummings // Sam Heelis, Submerged // Vincent Van Gogh, via @metamorphesque // Andrea Wan // Mary Oliver, For Example // Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to A Young Poet // everbloominglove // Ocean Vuong, Someday I'll Love Ocean Vuong, via @lucidloving // Andrei Dobrynin // David Lethithan, How They Met And Other Stories // @archbudzar

[pavelsmerdyakov]

everyone talks a lot about suffering and despair as it pertains to Dostoevsky’s work which is totally fair and understandable given the subject matter but I rarely see discussion of how deeply and sacredly tender the end of C&P is. I think there’s a very important lesson to be learned which is that you do not unilaterally get to decide that you are horrid beyond redemption and unworthy of love, no matter what horrible things you’ve done. Sonya and Razumikhin and Dunya do not abandon Rodya as he thinks they should and in fact they uproot their entire lives to make sure there will still be a place for him in the world when he gets out of prison. Other people have free will and they can use that free will to unconditionally love and forgive you and there’s nothing you can do about that, whether you choose to receive it or not so you may as well receive it- even if you feel unworthy. And that is like the very beginning of hope and coming back from the place of no return. Is letting yourself be loved. And letting yourself be loved—- even if you don’t feel that you deserve it—- opens the gateway to experiencing love for others yourself after a prolonged period of cutting yourself off from feeling those feelings of positive regard. It’s a stream that flows both ways. And it doesn’t change any of the horrifying facts about the past. But it makes it possible to begin to live again.

[dragonstrings]

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