[star-plasma]

[malglories]

me, writing, throwing commas around like i’ve just won the lottery and i’m exulting in my winnings, needlessly, passionately, with no thought to the consequences,

[lifeinpoetry]

When

         the dark rolled round again, we were silver-sighted, wrapped in smoke and ready. We howled. Oh yes. Listen. Our throats still know how to find the rawest song.

— Catherine Pierce, from “The Delinquent Girls,” The Girls of Peculiar

[lettersfromadreamgirl]

[wordsnquotes]

[purplebuddhaquotes]

She wasn’t happy, but then she wasn’t unhappy. She wasn’t anything. But I don’t believe anyone is a nothing. There has to be something inside, if only to keep the skin from collapsing.

John Steinbeck (via purplebuddhaquotes)

[themoonstruck]

My tongue only works when my mouth is closed, but that’s no way to speak so I don’t. It tangoes and it waltzes and it reads off Shakespeare but the second fresh air touches it it

freezes

like a deer in headlights.

My tongue leaves me to wallow in my brain that acts

as a one-way mirror.

Trapped in silence I have no control over, I pound the walls that contain me to no avail.

[themoonstruck]

Pixels blink at me in anticipation as I hesitantly trace my fingers along the edge of the screen. Words expectantly sit impatiently for me to throw them at the audience that seems much larger now. Eyes bear into me as I’m volunteered to present something I didn’t write. Maybe I used my voice wrong, and maybe I steered the pitch in the wrong direction; emphasized the wrong words. Laughs were silent or nonexistent, allowing me to be unaware if they were present. Hands clapped silently without moving, causing me to sink into the other realm. They’re blocked out behind a screen. Television characters don’t know me, and I don’t know them. He looks into the camera and struggles to put together nice words. The spotlight finds someone more deserving and strips me of its warmth. Back where I belong, I forget my existence once more to block out yet another nothing memory. What poem? What pressure? What cowardness? That was just a faint recollection of a dream, if anything at all.

[themoonstruck]

Our shoulders used to touch; connected. They were a second home to me. Now, I apologize when they meet.

[themoonstruck]

I used to be my favorite subject, but now I’m my favorite question.

[themoonstruck]

“What’s the point?” I ask

He pulls me closer

But has no answer

For we both know

That nothing matters

[livingstills]

[fatalplants]

“Does love grow like fine wine or does it stay the same like the stars in the sky”

—  someone tell me where i went wrong (j.d)

[silkandsunlight]

“I’m starved for connection, not attention.”

— Unknown (via quotemadness)

[floralwaterwitch]

[mothfishing]

a lot of people think it’s not possible for poetry to be bad. these people are wrong

[faustsfancycorner]

what are your thoughts on this

[mothfishing]

actually every poem except this one is bad

[latenights]

If you don’t appreciate her, someone else will.