How to hold myself together. @whattheyarnknowsofsweaters - Tumblr Blog

My friend recently had her first kiss. When she called to tell me the news she said she hadn’t realized there could be “so many worlds to explore in a single mouth”. She also said it in many ways reminded her of “eating something slimy.” I smiled for a long time about that one. A few days ago I was telling this same friend about something Frida Kahlo said before she died. She said, “I hope the leaving is joyful, and I hope never to return.” My friend asked me, “Do you think you want to return?” As soon as she asked the question I started crying. I thought about every year of my life, every hard fist of a moment, and it broke my heart to think I might not choose to come back. For whatever reason, the days, they do not slow river into me. They never have, and lately the moments have been especially rough. Last week I said to a friend (not the kissing friend), “I wish I could take naps… life would be a whole lot easier if there were less of it.” We both laughed. Laughing is medicine. I have a personality I developed whose only job is to laugh at the personality in me that’s depressed as hell. I have another personality that screams at them both, another that does nothing but bounce on a mini trampoline, and yet another that tries to make sense of it all via poems about the moon. It is this final personality that in the end, thank god, always seems to win. This personality says “Yes. Yes. I think I do want to return. Mostly for the kissing, for the slimy kissing, for the many worlded kissing, the only time I know for absolute certain I am not praying alone. “

Andrea Gibson (via wellconstructedsentences)

wuukasch

thisbodyofwater

you moved out today and i had to cry about it because it’s you and you’ve got these eyes that make me forget about myself and when I looked at you in the driveway this afternoon, in the greyest weather, and i saw all your things packed up in your dirty jeep, and i saw my hands shaking like little white leaves, i could feel, so sharply, that soon i would have to start remembering myself again: every sad bone, every empty corner i tricked into hitting the highway in late august. that soon i’d have to piece back together an independence i used to know, an indifference to darkening rooms, to silence, to existing in separate cities. and i kept looking at you like you knew for sure where i had hidden these things, like you might tell me my strength for solitude was sitting in the second desk drawer, that my aptitude for making something sultry out of sullen skies was pinned to the bulletin board, that my previously coveted singularity was stuffed in the back of the closet.

say i can do this. i need to hear you say it because it’s me and before you i knew how to do things like this. i knew how to swallow broken-glass goodbyes, quietly close the bedroom door, and throw my heart back into blue hibernation. my hands were content to hold themselves. now suddenly - this apartment feels huge. i’m biting at my fingernails again because everyone knows loneliness breeds bad habits except now, i don’t know what to do with all this blood in my mouth. you didn’t take anything and i have to cry about it because the cabinets are still crowded with your dishes! the bedroom is still under the influence of your white linens! so now it’s become all about the absence of your lips on the coffee mugs, the absence of your body in the broken bed. there is too much space for me to move without snagging on where you’ve been, where you should still be.

thisbodyofwater

12:50 AM

The moths are back. That small brown sound of singed wings, tiny burnt bodies litter the front porch. All that comes to mind is - Hey, sometimes Heaven can hurt. Suddenly I am reminded that I haven’t swum in ages, haven’t held a girl in my arms since May. So I sit on the floral couch and bake this thought for 47 minutes: When you think of my name, do you taste the color of shivering light? Let’s go back to the beginning. Before I brushed my hair for you. I’ll say -These are my hands that have lines like little white maps; Here is where I sleep. Something about this makes me think the word, Moonbeam. Makes me want to call my Mom. Mom - I would say - I’m eating breakfast again. She’ll hold her heart like a heart. Instead I tell your ghost - Put me in the pool where my arms know what to do in your absence. Stroke, Stroke, Stroke, Breathe. Just two bodies of water coming to a soft understanding. But really, put me in your mouth like language. I never know what I mean until I mean it.

thisbodyofwater

Happy moments that are real these days are too often connected to my brown eyed boy with the easy smile and softest everything. Another Sunday sinks into a blue resolution and I am alone again. Finally fresh faced after spending an hour melting into myself, driving around the city with my puffy eyes hidden behind silver rimmed sunglasses, chasing the golden glow of 7:00 PM around gray casted corners and down peach dappled backstreets. Goodbyes are the honestly the hardest for me right now. However thankful I am for the last few months of quiet and an opportunity to turn a soft focus inward, I can say with complete honesty - I am in love and I feel a very real part of myself go missing when I watch him jiggle his jeep off towards the highway, back to the big city, back to a place where we struggle to transcribe each other’s heartbeats, to read each other’s breathing over the phone. This weekend was so necessary. The holy hibernation on the floral couch. That smoky skin on skin, mouth on mouth, minute on minute kind of importance.

theoldestchorusgirlintheworld

1. Fiona Apple, Left Alone 2. Miranda July, It Chooses You 3. Jean Rhys, Good Morning Midnight 4. Alice Munro, Lives of Girls and Women 5. Cat Power, No Sense 6. Elena Ferrante, The Story of a New Name 7. Jean Rhys, Wide Sargasso Sea 8. Julia Holter, Have You In My Wilderness 9. Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse 10. Alice Munro, Lives of Girls and Women

fallinyourtidalwaves

i wanna scream! bless these women

thetattedstoner

hands where my eyes can see || Busta Rhymes

kingbutter888

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO UNDERRATED. TOP 5 UNDERRATED RAPPERS EVER.

gawdofdopeshit

Even was Buss was “dry” after Look At Me now he was still dropping songs and killing radio lowkey. He evolved what rap videos looked like. He has the best opening 4 bars in Hip Hop history on “Scenario” by ATCQ, and has stayed one of the most consistent artists over the past 20+ years. Buss is DEFINITELY top 10 ever.

thefandomdropout

Damn Memories, so many desks we banged this beat on in class

jujubee58

onjahleek-deactivated20190114

this was/IS my shit. no family function is complete without everybody jammin to this

dynastylnoire

Yes sir

irememberdcmbr

This song is seriously timeless. I WILL PLAY THIS FOR MY CHILDREN’S CHILDREN.

thelovejournals

If there is any substitute for love, it is memory.

Joseph Brodsky (via wordsnquotes)

thelovejournals

Sometimes it was hard to express how much you loved someone. You said the words, but you could never quite capture the depth of it. You could never quite hold someone tightly enough.

Diane Chamberlain, The Midwife’s Confession (via iamazziz)