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girl. 22. wildflowers. dc.

bugs hum and it feels crippled,
we are suctioned to this mass of
dwindling green and blue, ears
pressed on what sounds like
the news, the facts and we keep
tossing our hearts into the waste
basket, holding our breath at
midnight and by the gravestones

we remember the warm yellow of
our small hands and full cheeks
exhaling on petals to wish them
goodbye, before our skin was
pressed to the sheets and our
selves forgotten to desire or to
a selfishness, one that grows and
blooms and steals the light
in our chest with its black rebirth

and nobody hands me the paper
or wakes me up at night, what I
see in my sleep, it stings like
what happens here, what is
real, it is not enough to be thin
after all, it is not enough to dare
once or pour out the hot blue, we
must wake everyday

with the sun


Damián González (Cuban, b. 1967), Juego Natural, 2004. Oil on canvas 39 1/2 x 59 in.

I didn’t say I liked it. I said it fascinated me. There is a great difference.

Oscar Wilde, adapted from The Picture of Dorian Gray (via lifeinpoetry)


went outside for the 1st time in weeks…

We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we have hidden in as if caves.

— Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient (via feellng)


Lovers in a Cafe - Gotthardt Kuehl


oh how i long for a kitchen like this

Some things become such a part of us that we forget them.

Antonio Porchia, from “Voices,” trans. Gonzalo Melchor, Poetry (March 2012)


this little guy

Instagram: mommabearearthquake



It’s strange how your childhood sort of feels like forever. Then suddenly you’re sixteen and the world becomes an hourglass and you’re watching the sand pile up at the wrong end. And you’re thinking of how when you were just a kid, your heartbeat was like a kick drum at a rock show, and now it’s just a time bomb ticking out. And it’s sad. And you want to forget about dying. But mostly you just want to forget about saying goodbye.

— Beau Taplin (via waandeerlust)

I used to think I was tough, but then I realized I wasn’t. I was fragile and I wore thick fucking armor. And I hurt people so they couldn’t hurt me. And I thought that was what being tough was, but it isn’t.

— James Frey (via confusingmisery)