prelude.
i’ve found you many times
written in the frays of an
old biology notebook;
blue was your favorite color
& you lived between margins
of summertime grey. you loved
the idea of science & studied each galaxy,
nebulae, & cluster of stars
as if they were your own. you had scars on your
fingertips & chipped teeth,
but you still managed to smile
even while you were trapped beneath
my feet.
i’ve found you many times
carved into the canvas of
my thighs;
you never once left a cut
that i couldn’t bandage &
overlook. but i do miss your
familiar sting, your hollow name
etching crests in my
irises. helpless, are the spirits
y
No rest for a weary heart. by lupus-astra, literature
Literature
No rest for a weary heart.
Yesterday my mother asked me what I
would name my children and I told her that
I did not want any. She scoffed at me
and shook her head, insisting
that once I found the
"perfect man"
all of that would change.
And I thought back
to all the times when my palms
sweated and my throat ran dry
and my cheeks heated up just because
a girl walked by whose lips
were so pretty and pink that all I wanted
to do was taste them.
"No,"
I replied, swallowing the acid
that was threatening to crawl out of
my mouth,
"it will take a lot more than that
to convince me."
Because despite the fact that
the mere thought of a man
with arms that could carry the we
blood oranges and cat kisses. by ohellohara, literature
Literature
blood oranges and cat kisses.
blood oranges kissed by cobwebs on the table
in the middle of the kitchen—bloody cobwebs
kissed orange by the cats in the kitchen sitting
on the table—cat’s claws bloodied by kisses
from old mothers sitting at the table in the
middle of the kitchen—orange mothers
covered in blood and cobwebs being clawed at
by cats in the middle of the kitchen
beauty is a state of mind by intricately-ordinary, literature
Literature
beauty is a state of mind
forgiveness is the
scent the violet leaves
on the foot that stomped it;
I am beautiful in remembrance:
I am beautiful
in a body two sizes too
large, in eyes dilated
with questions (eyes
you cannot name; gray
like the ocean, blue
like the heart, green like
the fever dream I cannot
wake from) I am the
hair of a lion, a wild
thing, ignition upon
tempted glance. I am the skin
you cannot name, always fleeting;
the chameleon
you always see
but never truly take in.
and I know a boy
carved of ivory sil
Twisted up in a trap of I.V.s,
she withered and withered away.
Disease stole her lively light
from the sickbed where she lay.
A month before she perished,
I think she might have said,
"I know that I am dying, sure,
but dying's not the same as dead."
broken dreams and invisible heartstrings by lupus-astra, literature
Literature
broken dreams and invisible heartstrings
Every morning,
she wakes up to a
hollow chest & stormy,
red rimmed eyes.
It's so easy to be in love
with being in love;
swallowing fake truths
& sincere lies.
But her heart—
it forgot how to smile
two years ago,
because no one can tell
the difference between
imitations & reality.
"Please,
please find me;
I'm lost between the cracks of
dying stars."
Desperate to breathe
yet wondering how it would feel
to drown,
she's never belonged
in this universe.
I am a little overly passive by ElegantFaith, literature
Literature
I am a little overly passive
I am a little overly passive
a little passive aggressive
A little passion suggested
(especially towards myself.)
My post dramatic stress is in order
dramatic posts on facebook; boring
waking up at three this morning
waning, waxing, repeat.
Modern existentialism
god and ghosts and skepticism
humanity's a euphemism
I'm not quite awake.
Erosion of the Catskills by ElegantFaith, literature
Literature
Erosion of the Catskills
There are people who know why the world revolves
why monkeys and fossils evolve
why the Catskills continue to erode and devolve
why cartilage and bones corrode and dissolve
this could be why we dream.
When earthquakes and volcanoes break out and layer up
and cover our eyes with a cloth of dust
like a frosty morning makes a field look like a tiled floor.
When dreaming breaks our souls into pieces instead
of puzzling our consciousness together
like fighting fire is a job as well as revenge.
When lakes begin to look more like graveyards
and emotions begin to feel trapped inside skin
it's what wha