iâm a new literature/poetry blog!
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@epeolate
iâm a new literature/poetry blog!
if you follow me and post quotes/literature/anything writing related, iâll definitely follow back :)Â

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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njideka akunyili crosby, the beautyful ones, #7Â
âThe difference between poetry and rhetoric is being ready to kill yourself instead of your children.â
â Audre Lorde, Power. 1978
on being ordinary
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to be exceptional. You do not need to build Rome, or burn it, or fiddle as it burns, or fiddle at all. You need not wage war or wager peace.
You need only sit with me, here. The stars are resting on rooftops and trees. They are as ordinary as ourselves. People constructed legends about them, but they are simple and straightforward. They will disappear come morning, and we will stay here.Â
Some lights we see are only remnants of their former selves, burning for a final time. If even they can be ephemeral, then surely so can we.
You need not be great. Just sit here. Let the early morning hold you as it erases all the stars.Â
Anne Sexton, from The Complete Poems; âThe Big Heartâ
Text ID: the artery of my soul has been severed / and soul is spurting out upon them, / bleeding on them,

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âA thinking woman sleeps with monsters / The beak that grips her, she becomes.â
â Adrienne Rich, in Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law: Poems, 1954-1962 (via minimaâmoralia)
How light the raindropâs contents are. How gently the world touches me.
Wislawa Szymborska, from View with a Grain of Sand: Selected Poems (via niimph)
When I am silent, I have thunder hidden inside.
Rumi (via quotefeeling)
âLove is what makes you smile when youâre tired.â
â Paulo Coelho
Wislawa Szymborska.

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WisĹawa Szymborska, tr. by Clare Cavanagh and StanisĹaw BaraĹczak, from âExperimentâ, Map: Collected and Last Poems
we take shelter in the moment between question                  and answer. we slip into the moment's hunger and we savor it like wine.
epeolate
In the desert I saw a creature, naked, bestial, Who, squatting upon the ground, Held his heart in his hands, And ate of it. I said, âIs it good, friend?â âIt is bitterâbitter,â he answered; âBut I like it âBecause it is bitter, âAnd because it is my heart.â
Stephen Crane, In the Desert. 1895. From The Little Black Riders and Other Lines.Â
The desire to be loved is the last illusion: Give it up and you will be free.â
Selected Poems II: 1976 - 1986, âA Sunday Driveâ by Margaret Atwood (via decreation)
Iâm falling into the flesh, into the sadness of the body that cannot give up its habits, habits of the hands and skin.
Selected Poems II: 1976 - 1986, âKeepâ by Margaret Atwood (via decreation)

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âFrom tiny experiences we build cathedrals.â
â Orhan Pamuk, The Art of Fiction No. 187 (via theparisreview)
âYou remember too much, my mother said to me recently. Why hold onto all that? And I said, Where can I put it down?â
Anne Carson