poppy

thoughts .

[silent-insanities]

I sleep just so I can see you during my dreams.

[lunamonchtuna]

— Richard Siken, I Had a Dream About You from Crush (via lunamonchtuna)

[flowerytale]

Fernando Pessoa, from The Book of Disquiet

[flowerytale]

Jeffrey Eugenides, from Middlesex

[mysterieuxclairdelune]

{Juansen Dizon, I Am The Architect of My Own Destruction page 24/ Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 6: 1955-1966/ Alice Hoffman, The Red Garden/ Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 5: 1947-1955/ Haruki Murakami: Norwegian Wood, page 276/ Michael Ondaatje/ Catherynne M. Valente, The Orphan's Tales: In the Night Garden/ D.H. Lawrence, from The Complete Works; The Plumbed Serpent/ Jean-Paul Sartre, from No Exit/ Alice Notley, from In The Pines: Poems; "In The Pines,"}

[wovi]

*

mortifying ordeal, etc. 🕊

(claire schwartz / coco mellors)

[thegirlthatcriesacademia]

I began to draw an invisible boundary between myself and other people. No matter who I was dealing with. I maintained a set distance, carefully monitoring the person's attitude so that they wouldn't get any closer. I didn't easily swallow what other people told me. My only passions were books and music.

— Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

[flowerytale]

Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

[tearsandtheteeth]

[aretherestarsinhell]

“i still love you. you know that right? i always did, probably always will. lord knows i was never good at letting things - or people - go.”

-and other things i’ll never tell you. c.r.

[metamorphesque]

― Salma Deera, Letters From Medea

[text ID: The centre of every poem is this: / I have loved you. / I have had to deal with that.]

[flowerytale]

Anne Sexton, from A Self-Portrait in Letters

[tullipsink]

desperation sits heavy on my tongue

[thesesummersonspoet]

let yourself be a cliche if it makes you happy. go to coffee shops and order something with too many syllables. cry yourself to sleep sometimes. kiss in the rain. draw on your arms. write bad poetry. write better poetry. fill notebooks with your crushes and hopes and yearnings. feel everything for the first time.

[metamorphesque]

i am every age i have ever been …

tumblr user @blossomfully, tumblr user @wastelandbebe, “Eleven” by Sandra Cisneros, “Untitled” by Franz Wright

˗ˏˋ☕ˎˊ˗

[hauntedbythenarrative]

Do revenge (2022), Jennifer Kaytin Robinson

Black Iris, Leah Raeder//I Will Tell this Story to the Sun Until You Remember that You are the Sun, Erin Slaughter//1Q84, Haruki Murakami//Mirror Traps, Hera Lindsay Bird//Hanif Abdurraqib//Boyish, Japanese Breakfast//Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?, Jeanette Winterson

[ritikajyala]

I lost my best friend 3 years ago- not lost as in dead but lost as in we only text each other on our birthdays now. Movies and books don't tell you that a friendship dying is like the sinking of a ship, you try to get higher and higher and hold onto the rails and unanswered texts, the captain tries to steer it to safety and salvage pieces of two broken hearts until you're left with memories of what once was. We were friends for a decade and knew each other's diaries by heart, I still remember her phone number and the way she took her coffee. Seeing her in streets is like breathing in a scent you forgot you knew but it immediately takes you back to a summer in '07.

Movies and books also don't tell you that friendships don't just end after one fight or incident, it's like the rusting of a bridge, the slow decay of flesh and bones and secrets. It took weeks, months- until one day I woke up and I realized I hadn't thought of her in a while. And I wrote a poem that day and I titled it 'The dying of a best friend' and I put all my love for her in a tiny box with my half of the matching pendant of a dolphin we had and stored them in a corner of my heart under the heading Grief. Where else can one hide unspent love?

It's been 3 years since I lost my best friend, lost as in I still carry our secrets in a tiny box but we only text each other on our birthdays.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire