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“Lakes of red roses, here, in the snow;”

— Émile Verhaeren, from The Evenings: Poems; “Fatal Flower,” c. 1887

to love someone is firstly to confess: i'm prepared to be devastated by you. by A History of My Brief Body by Billy-Ray Belcourt

letsbelonelytogetherr

Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

mournfulroses

Mary Oliver, from a poem titled "West Wind," featured in Devotions: Selected Poems

ultrawistful

little bit from a longer piece of mine ࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔

flowerytale

Margaret Atwood, from The Blind Assassin

ritikajyala

It rained all night and I miss my childhood. It's a short poem, I've had a long long night and a short life. I've been trying to remember my grandpa's smile but memory is a treacherous thing. It rained all night and I miss everything I've forgotten.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The Flesh I Burned

fromdarzaitoleeza

Richard Siken, Crush/Lora Mathis, If There's A Way Out I'll Take It

primulaceas

Naomi Shihab Nye, “Sometimes I Pretend.” A Maze Me: Poems for Girls

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There is such terrible vacancy in my thoughts lately. It is not a lack of feeling. It is something darker, it is something else. There is pure vacancy in there, do you understand? It is pure. And I am scared.

— Anne Sexton, from “A Self-Portrait In Letters.”