Take a lover that looks at you like maybe you are magic.

Marty McConnell, from her poem “Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell” (via poemsbydes)

Originally from Desireé Dallagiacomo

This is not courage, this is trying to hold the moon because he is the only one without hands

And/or (Jeanann Verlee)

Originally from everything's going so well

I died in Korea from a shrapnel wound, and narcotics resurrected me. I died in 1960 from a prison sentence and poetry brought me back to life.

Etheridge Knight (via rodrickminor)

Originally from Rodrick Minor

In that foreign america, they must consider the dandelion a weed and not a bouquet of potential.

Hieu Nguyen

…sometimes I feel like the entire morning
Just happens to me
If I am able to think a poem I congratulate myself
People can be so rotten is what I think next

Wendy Xu, from Sexy Tree 

Source: thepinchjournal.com

Getting rid of nothing
is biblical work.

Lauren Shaprio, from They Promised Me a Thousand Years of Peace

Source: phantomlimbpress.com

I do not forget the north
of your naked, nor the froth
of your ambition. I wear that
compass like tattoo.
To grow is what I like
about you: how it looks.
How you draw the icon
from its tooled&pearled holster.
Hot as a star.

Arielle Greenberg, from Sugar-Star

Source: phantomlimbpress.com

A bell’s tongue
is called a clapper, which satisfies

visually but not aurally. I want something
hard but rounded. I want to lie down

somewhere warm for a light but fulfilling nap.
I want to roam around the swamp

when I please, if that’s what my friends are doing,
if the morning requires an easy adventure.

Whenever I am even a little sick,
I feel as though I may never be healthy again.

The sensations of our bodies are hard
to remember when absent, the way, too,

a face starts to dissolve the more you try
to conjure it.

Caroline Cabrera, from Anxiety

Source: phantomlimbpress.com

You cannot be a writer and have writing be anything other than the central romance of your life, which is one thing they don’t tell you about being a woman writer: it’s its own flavour of lonely. Men can get away with loving writing a little bit more than anything else. Women can’t: our partners and, eventually, our children are expected to take priority.

Laurie Penny, from her essay “I Was A Manic Pixie Dream Girl” (via poemsbydes)

Originally from Desireé Dallagiacomo

Sometimes, I am so spilling over with feelings
that I have to sit in my room with the lights off.
blankets pulled up over my head
so I don’t explode out all of my insides.
I am full. I am boiling over. I am fragile.
I am terrified to say that. To say that I am fragile.
I break like a bad habit. Like a fever. a windshield. I break like a wave.

Desireé Dallagiacomo (via yrrie)

(via chuckeeysbride)

Source: yrrie

Originally from CHIRONIC

Blood ends and blood begins.
Blood ends and light begins.
We are broken dams.
We are goddamn broken.
We are God: dams broken.

Jeremy Radin, from “With These Hands” 

Source: decompmagazine.com

I have no problem merging heart, soul, households, bank accounts,” the bride said. ”But I am nervous about combining books.

Susan Shapiro and Charlie Rubin - New York Times (via rachelfershleiser)

(via rachelfershleiser)

Originally from You Rach You Lose

Memories are a rock
thrown through the window of an empty house

ANIS MOJGANI, “Love Is Not a Science” (via headupandholy)

Originally from certain birds forever unseen

Being an artist means forever healing your own wounds and at the same time endlessly exposing them.

Annette Messager

(via mols)

(via halmaan)

Source: mols

Originally from Paint me a palace.

Depression is a good lover. So attentive. Has this innate way of making everything about you.

Kait Rokowski, ” A Good Day” (via larmoyante)

Originally from Larmoyante