Poetry For Breakfast

I write stuff and sometimes I like when people read it she/her

[virtualink]

Fluid

I live my life in polarity

The desire of wanting to be known and wanting no one to know me

Constantly torn between which version of myself I should commit to

The first choice usually satisfies me until I’m full

And then I have to climb the ladder until I’m hungry again

I almost always scrape my knees on the way up, and I get angry that I can’t seem to do anything without bloodshed

Why can’t I do this neatly?

My hands are always getting dirty with nothing to show for it

Balancing on the tight rope of self doubt and overwhelming certainty

My interests are always at odds and I’m ready to wave the white flag

Yet, I want to be a paradox, an oxymoron,

Easy to swallow and hard to stomach

Mostly, I want to feel still while I’m moving

Does that make sense?

I want to be stagnant

I want to be fluid

[metamorphesque]

— Tennessee Williams, Notebooks

[metamorphesque]

[ text ID: I am sitting at my kitchen table waiting for my lover to arrive with lettuce and tomatoes and rum and sherry wine and a big floury loaf of bread in the fading sunlight. Coffee is percolating gently, and my mood is mellow. I have been very happy lately, just wallowing in it selfishly, knowing it will not last very long, which is all the more reason to enjoy it now. I suppose life always ends badly for almost everybody. We must have long fingers and catch at whatever we can while it is passing near us. ]

[soracities]

happy "everyone forgets that icarus also flew" monday. i want to throw up !

[soracities]

"anything worth doing is worth doing badly"............."not failing as he fell but just coming to the end of his triumph"......goodnight (it's noon)

[weltenwellen]

Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1931–1934

[weltenwellen]

Rebecca Ross, Divine Rivals

[bakwaaas]

honestly it’s actually the small, mundane, boring things that someone does for you out of love which mean so much rather than grand gestures and proclamations

[lastparty]

from butch is a noun by s. bear bergman

[weltenwellen]

Clarice Lispector, tr. by Ronald W. Sousa, The Passion According to G.H.

[metamorphesque]

— “Love Letter (Clouds)”, Sarah Manguso

[derangedrhythms]

Vladimir Mayakovsky, Volodya: Selected Works; from ‘I love’, tr. George Reavey

[paandaan]

[cultof-aphrodite]

Joy Harjo “Perhaps the World Ends Here”

[beguines]

Victoria Chang, from "The Islands, 1961" (for Agnes Martin)

[nightwashh]

the years by alex dimitrov

[metamorphesque]

— Landscape with a Blur of Conquerors, Richard Siken

[text ID: To make something / beautiful should be enough. It isn’t. It should be.]

[geryone]

Pine to Sound, Nancy Kuhl

[inkipri]

little by little i will save my life and the rot in my stomach will swell into something sweet and it’ll sit on my tongue and i will think to myself how silly it is to wallow when there is a sun that shines and hands that reach for other hands. little by little i will remember every vessel in me bears the promise that most sweet things shall stay alive for as long as i live alongside them. little by little i will leave my head for the real world and i will fearlessly dangle my feet on tall grass and without hesitance reach for a star knowing with absolute certainty that i can never hold it close or call it mine and that it’ll never love me back or yearn for me half as much. so here we are, me and my hope, and our only means of staying tethered together which is through the little by the little. little by little i will save my life not as some monumental course-altering endeavour of bigness and bravery and prettyness like in the poems… but by simply putting my life in warm clothes.

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