|10th Dec 2013✧08:40285 notes|
Do you have any words to get me through the night? I am too tired and my heart is too heavy and the only things I can trust in right now are your beautiful words
The other day I was sitting in a poetry slam workshop, on this tiny little multicolored couch with two people next to me, one of whom is a favorite slam poet of mine, and about twenty other poets in the room. And this room is small and cozy and warm, filled with yarn and posters about equality and reducing oppression, etc, and we’re all going around the room talking about our best parts of the week.
And this favorite slam poet of mine, she pauses and gets this beautiful big grin on her face and says, “I went out on a date with a girl last night and she gave me a flower.”
And it’s like, I don’t know, damn. Witnessing someone else’s pure joy at a single flower and all the meaning it contained for her was so purely wonderful.
Whenever I go for a walk, I think about all the bodies that are buried beneath my feet and that sounds morbid but at the same time these are people that lived and agonized and cried and smiled, wept with happiness and married and had aching, beautiful sex for the first time and sent each other love letters and now they’re forever a part of the earth that they so loved or hated, they’re a part of the thing that made them, that gave birth to them.
So whenever I go for a walk and I’m feeling horrible, there are so many souls beneath me holding me up.
My grandfather still looks at my grandmother like she’s the only person in the world, and they keep this garden full of overgrown tomato vines and raspberries and lettuce and gardenias. There’s always going to be a garden that keeps growing no matter how many times you want to dig up your own roots and just wilt away.
There’s always going to be that subway you want to step in front of but chances are there’s at least one person riding it that once stood before those tracks wanting to do the same thing you do.
But they took one step- not down onto the tracks, but up onto the subway platform and rode into some not-too-distant future where the person they would eventually end up marrying was sitting on a seat with a cup of coffee in their hands, listening to loud music and singing along.
And there’s nothing better than knowing that what could have killed them actually made them strong.
Life’s not always a fucking delicious peach because there’s gonna be that pit blocking the way, but you just gotta stick around for the tender flesh.
any word like chill or relax?
- fika (Swedish) - relaxed social event with good friends involving coffee and pastries
- gemütlichkeit (German) - a situation that induces a cheerful mood, peace of mind, with connotation of belonging and social acceptance, coziness and unhurry
- gezelligheid (Dutch) - convivial, cosy, fun, quaint, or nice atmosphere; belongingness, time spent with loved ones, the fact of seeing a friend after a long absence, or general togetherness; the coziness, warmth and comfort of being at home, or being together with friends or loved ones sharing time in a pleasant and nice atmosphere
- hyggelig (Danish) - a complete absence of anything annoying, irritating or emotionally overwhelming, and the presence of and pleasure from comforting, gentle and soothing things
- уют (Bulgarian) - a moment of where one is in peace, cozy, relaxed and at ease with one’s self or being with friends experiencing belongingness and acceptance
The night was dark and unusually quiet. The power had not yet been restored everywhere. Lots of people had stayed away. He wondered if stray cats and dogs had drowned in the flood. The shotgun was loaded. He was afraid to fire it in the trailer. Paper-thin walls separated him from his sleeping children.
|10th Dec 2013✧04:392,475 notes|
|10th Dec 2013✧04:38715 notes|
humans are so cute, when we say goodbye we put our arms around each other and to show we love someone we bring them flowers. we say hello by holding each other’s hand, and sometimes tiny little dewdrops form in our eyes. for pleasure we listen to arrangements of sounds, press our lips together, smoke dried leaves, get drunk off of old fruit. we’re all just little animals, falling in love and having breakfast beneath billions of stars :~)
|10th Dec 2013✧04:32154 notes|
|10th Dec 2013✧04:284,076 notes|
When the first manic episode came, we ate ice cream sandwiches
and I held you against the sink, naked, as you filled my mouth
with chocolate syrup. Rome was burning and I was losing myself
in your skin, your longings, as the sky outside turned to pink ash.
We went grocery shopping at 4 am, you running screaming
down the aisles, throwing boxes of Cheerios and instant pancakes
in the cart, the store lights flickering on and off with your footsteps.
The next day, you dumped the computer out a seven-story building
and watched as it crashed into glass on the ground below.
Hear that? you said. That’s the sound of my heart.
I couldn’t get you out of bed, so we didn’t get out of bed at all.
The darkness of the moon on the walls, the sparrows outside,
your chest rising like smoke beneath my hands. Everything blue,
blue, deeper than Picasso’s favorite shade. Every unspoken
particular hanging in the air between us: two bodies, inconsolable,
or maybe insoluble, we couldn’t tell which.
Some days your mind is like the Sunday horoscopes: looking up,
an unexpected visitor appears on your doorstep, new and fresh
things will happen, and other days it’s the ones that read
Today your own existence will wound you deeply.