Tag: words

Don’t attach yourself to anyone who shows you the least bit of attention because you’re lonely. Loneliness is the human condition. No one is ever going to fill that space. The best you can do is know yourself… know what you want.

Janet Fitch, White Oleander (via larmoyante)

I’m wondering if that is the country we want for ourselves.

I wonder what our nation would be like if we truly fought to change our obsession with guns and put our priorities in things that we know will make us smarter, stronger, and more compassionate instead of angrier and more fearful.

What if we were a country that defended the need for everyone to have access to books and excellent education as much as it defended an interpretation of the second amendment? What if our elected leaders spent more time talking about how to make our country great through innovative libraries, exceptional schools, and world class teacher training programs rather than safeguarding gun laws?

I want to live in a world where we can talk with books in our hands rather than guns at the ready. In a country where gun violence destroys lives on a daily basis, can we at least agree on that?

from More Books, Fewer Guns
(via bookriot)

afterthelonely:

i say, ‘the weight is unbearable,’
and you say ‘what weight,’
so i shrug & roll my shoulders
like it was all a joke.

above me, atlas groans &
glares at me, mouths ‘liar,’
like it’s something i do not already know.

i ignore him & splay my hands
across my stomach, tracing
the place where the world
wraps around my torso.
the place where prometheus
is lashed to the rocks,
bellowing every time i do
not move.
nowadays, that is almost daily.

every poem i’ve written
in the last year has had the
word ‘change,’ in it,
and yet nothing is changing.

i say ‘the world is on my back,’
and yet i only say it to the
girl in the mirror.

she says she knows, and i smile,
and she smiles. we sleep curled
into each other, one hand always
reaching for atlas, like
a weak attempt to reach for home.

METAMORPHIC // Darshana Suresh

anne-hildegard:

i used to be queen, riding skeletons, placing heads on his pillow for fun. 
the best way to leave the crime scene was not at all. the best way
was to curl around his nose like serpent smoke, make a nest in his lungs.  

i used to be queen on his wine crate throne. how did he slice me open?
deliberately. stripped the softness from my skin, filled me with stains
the shape of a dove and from feathers he assembled a cage.

i used to be queen with sorrow my concubine, a black-lidded star:
all glitter, dark matter and night. he breathed poison made from famine
and feral bones. – i kissed the mouth of a rattlesnake.

– i sold my crown, anne hildegard // task VIII: royals