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@grumpyfemme

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1 So, itâs morning. Or maybe afternoon. Thereâs light pouring through the window and itâs got you looking the kind of haloed and soft you only see in movies. Iâm only half awake but Iâm already writing poetry about your eyelashes, can you believe that? Â 2 In the mirror, I pretend to watch myself watching myself brushing my teeth. Instead, I watch you run your hands through your hair: again and again and again and again. More than once, Iâve seen the way you try to rearrange your body into negative space. Like one of those optical illusionsâ the vase with the two faces. You forgot you could be both of them. You forgot that when you lean too close to a work of art the whole picture blurs and disappears. Â 3 A new painting: one with no negative space. You as steady hands and solid ground. You with a ukulele and a dog. Coffee and cayenne. Cheap wine and expensive whiskey. All that blue in your closet. You as the perfect first date and something soft to come home to. Bad jokes and good intentions and all thatâ light. Â 4 Yes, light. Listen, so, itâs late. Or the time of night some people call morning. Itâs dark in the car, but you laughâ I mean, really laugh. The kind that catches you by surprise and crinkles up the corners of your eyesâand itâs like a camera flash in a windowless room. Itâs the best thing Iâve seen, all day. Â 5 Every morning, the sun has to relearn how to outshine you. Sometimes even she is not bright enough.
INVENTING NEW WAYS TO CALL YOU BEAUTIFUL by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)
Iâll get over it I just gotta be dramatic first

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â margaret atwood, excerpt of circe/mud poems
self care is also being honest with yourself about your negative habits and mistakes. itâs also taking ownership of your faults and growing from them. self care is diverting from a negative space to a positive one. creating light and balance. blooming. watering your own flowers. being gentle but honest with yourself.
so take care.
I tell myself, that you are only a moment. How in this universe full of moments, weâre just two stars that found the same orbit. I tell myself that it doesnât matter. if we fall out of love, fall out of orbit, stop chasing our heels, stop touching each other, like sunflowers are growing from our skins. I tell myself that you are not the sun and I am not the greedy Earth. A mantra or a prayer, I tell myself, that it doesnât matter if someday, I cannot hold the soft mass of you in my arms. That I will love you properly here and now. What I mean is, if we are a moment, I want us to track through forever with our dirty shoes, and our suitcases. If we are a moment, let it be now and now and now.
Azra.T âChasing Tailsâ (via 5000letters)
âForgive me my grief that spans out acres. I have love the size of a church, & no one to give it to. Do I cut my hair? Do I harvest all of my beginnings? I touch my teeth with my tongue to remember the sharp can fade. Someone learns my name. I fall asleep.
Ana Carrizo, âReflectionsâ (via elvedon)

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Like a snake, my heart has shed its skin. I hold it here in my hand, full of honey and wounds.
Federico GarcĂa Lorca, New Heart (via cactuslungs)
You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov (via highermind)
donât let anyone tell you that itâs a bad thing to feel things deeply. a full heart is a strong heart and being soft doesnât make you weak. being soft and loving makes you radiant. you deserve all of the love in the world and so many good things.
I want to tell you I miss you with no subtext. No guilt, no anger, no expectation that youâll fix it. I donât want you to feel bad or to tell me it will get better. This is where we are meant to be right now â me apart from you, my hands a little empty and my heart a little sad. I just miss you. I wanted you to know.
(via exxcos)
I miss you, but I donât wish you were here.
Sabrina Benaim, from Depression and Other Magic Tricks
Happy publication day to Sabrina Benaim!
(via buttonpoetry)

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We happened. Like a fucking circus blowing through town, we happened, left wrappers and pinwheels littering the ground like dead bodies. Like the end of a war. You moved around the house so gracefully, never touching me, and I laughed because I thought it was your best act, waited hours for your hands because I didnât want to miss the rest of the show. We walked past each other like a trapeze act, like acrobats on a tightrope, arms spread on either side like it would save them from falling, and we were the best act around. The tent opened, and we were beautiful, effortless, jumping through rings of fire, catching each other in mid-air, wearing our best clothes. You loved me so well with the doors open. You loved me so well with an audience, but I donât want the circus anymore. I donât want it. I want to bury it six feet under, mourn it like a casualty and then move on. Chalk it up to something that sounds less like an empty fairground where we fired our first shots, where we first started to fracture like a bone. We may not have worked, but, my God, were we good at pretending. My God, were we something to look at.
Caitlyn Siehl, Circus (via alonesomes)
My body writes into your flesh the poem you make of me. Touching you I catch midnight as moon fires set in my throat.
Audre Lorde, from Recreation (via violentwavesofemotion)