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Language, like the mouthsthat hold and releaseit, is wet & living, eachword is wrinkledwith age, swollenwith other words, with blood, smoothed by the numberlessflesh tongues that have passed across it.Your language hangs around your neck,a noose,
Your Body (II) * * All the places I would like to kiss:Clavicle and ankleSacrum, a small bite on your philtrumMillipeding up the left inner thighThe warm space beneath your breastsInside both elbows and behind both kneesReverently on the eyes, playfully
Your Body #2 ** All the places I would like to kiss: Clavicle and ankle Sacrum, a small bite on your philtrum Millipeding up the left inner thigh The warm space beneath your breasts Inside both elbows and behind both knees Reverently on the eyes, playfull
art-tension: 10 Magical Paths Begging To Be Walked Roads and paths pervade our literature, poetry, artwork, linguistic expressions and music. Even photographers can’t keep their eyes (and lenses) off of a beautiful road or path, which is why
x-heliotropic: I knew exactly what love looked like – in seventh grade Even though I hadn’t met love yet, if love had wandered into my homeroom, I would’ve recognized him at first glance. Love wore a hemp necklace. I would’ve recognized her
Poetry
mashamorevna: “Just like the wolves, the more I am wounded, the more dangerous I become.” — Channing M
lifeinpoetry: “When you’re dead to so many people who’ve taken away your name, isn’t it your holy prerogative to burn the ghost of them out, the lamp shuttered like a house? Future arsonists: Will it always burn?” — Chloë Rose. from “Haunted,”
aridante:“I would like to step out of my heart and go walking beneath the enormous sky.” — The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke, ‘Lament’ tr. Stephen Mitchell
arise:I do have a poet’s vein. You’re right, I do like flowers and say odd things.Poetry, 2010dir. by Lee Chang-dong
we walk around like it's not holy
merelyamadness: I have been treating you like the bandagewhen you might actuallybe the wound.
shit-gaze: i tried to write a poem about the way your voice cracks at three am like the floorboards of the home i grew up in how you reach your palms into my chest and hold my heart in your hand but all i wrote down was the word you and this is enough
Poetry Is Good For The Soul
I might do a video tomorrow. Let everyone know what I sound like, recite some poetry. Maybe some Robert Burns.
Like poetry, but better
Likes to laugh more to love
Guys I’m just so excited to consider sending my poetry to publishers i really feel like I’m going on the right track
today I read one of my friends a poem of mine and his reaction was priceless. First he was silent, and then he was like “that was FUCKING AMAZING.” He started to cry and then asked me to read it again so I did. He said that if I kept writing
i hide in the safety oflyrics that I mimic like it was prayernever daring to let the music stopfor fear of being alone
you smelled faintly of cigarettesand you held me like i was a wisp of smokebound to dissipate at any momenti could have sworn you loved mebut you had sealed off your heartlong before our souls collidedbarricaded and burned all the bridges to the groundi
I romanticized you to the point where the knives you pressed into my skin began to look like Cupid’s arrows.
allerliefste:when you see someone holding a flower bouquet in public it is like poetry is happening
allerliefste-archive: when you see someone holding a flower bouquet in public it is like poetry is happening
