“My whole being calls for an act of violence, but I still use velvet gloves.”
— Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry featured in Mirages: The Unexpurgated Diary; 1939-1947 (via violentwavesofemotion)
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@iwhoresome
“My whole being calls for an act of violence, but I still use velvet gloves.”
— Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry featured in Mirages: The Unexpurgated Diary; 1939-1947 (via violentwavesofemotion)

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Julian K. Jarboe, ‘First Contact, Communion’ from Everyone on the Moon Is Essential Personnel
Do you have any advice for young women?
In general? Sure. Read whatever you can get your hands on, but especially work written by women. Put your hands in sticky things at least once a week (clay, paint, dough, soil), don’t date anyone for a few years, travel when you can where you can, learn the skill of listening to your body— rest when you are tired, eat when you are hungry, drink when you are thirsty, and move when you are anxious. Swim as often as you can. Try to live alone at least once. If you can’t live alone, make time to be alone often. Carry pepperspray and do not learn to hold your tongue. Learn to sew, or weave, or knit. Unlearn the impulse to apologize for things that are not your fault. Pleasure yourself. Every once in a while, remind yourself of how loudly you can yell, how quickly you can run, and wildly you can dance. Allow yourself to cry for your mother. Spend as much time as you can in female-only spaces. Spend even more time with older women. Listen to their stories. Memorize their gray hair and lined faces, their swollen joints and sagging breasts. Cherish the gradual appearance of these things in yourself as an inheritance. Hold hands with other women. Spend some time naked in your home. Adopt a cat, or a fish, or grow some caterpillars into butterflies on your window. Eat heartily and drink to enjoy it. Go hiking and scream from a peak somewhere. Sometimes, allow yourself to act like a child again— climb a tree, scrape up your knees, and lick cake batter from the spoon. When you clean your home, open all the windows and beat the dust from all the curtains. Laugh loudly. Do not become self-deprecating to encourage others to laugh with you.
whatever was left, that was ours for a while.
sunrise - louise glück
LizzieOrmian.redbubble.com
Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things

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i found this on twitter and really wanted it on my blog so if you took this and see this pls let me know so i can give you credit 😌
It’s cool to not be totally healed from something 9 months later and it’s also cool to understand that you don’t really heal from anything you just live beyond it and find new happiness and it’s cool to grieve the loss of some sort of innocence you can’t quite name and it’s cool if you’re crying because I am too
i have lost good people in my life bcz i was too caught up with my messy mind that i didnt have emotional energy to invest when i met them. And to be honest, i miss them. I think of them every now and then. I think of what could have beens and how this reality would have been a lot different if i was still in touch with them. But you know what, i guess that's life. You meet people, you keep some and you lose some. And you keep moving on.
To really think about it, it is okay to grow apart but it doesn't mean i didnt love your presence when you were here. "Love them like it's the last time you're seeing them." I still hope I find bits of them in people that i am going to meet someday, to maybe not lose my memory of them.To whoever i am not in touch with, I hope you are happy. I hope you are living the life you always wanted. I am here, i wonder if you think about me too bcz i do and i always will.
it's just that there's a few more steps you have to take that other people don't have to take, but they don't see the steps, so they think you should be able to hop from moment to moment, a chickadee.
it isn't getting out of bed. it is the weight, the hook in your chest, the anchor. you have to move the anchor first. you have to silence your alarm, but your phone is in your hand, which means now you have to put the phone down, which is too-hard. you get stuck in there for a while, the white screen, mindlessly scrolling. you don't even like this activity, have tried a few other options but - here you are, and time is passing.
you've googled iron deficiency causes depression and if i drink enough water does it help with mental illness and anxiety but no caffiene within the last two weeks, like how you googled am i gay quiz at 17.
it isn't just calling the doctor back, it's the anxiety, it's these little moths in your lung cavities, furious and fluttering. you need to figure out how to capture your fingers from between their nervous bodies. you are an adult, you can say the words yes hi, i'm calling because i need - but you need to practice first. maybe write it down because what if you misspeak, wouldn't that be embarrassing. write it down, but you need to find a pen first. well, actually, your desk is kind of messy. you should get a new pen. you should get a new organizational system. you should try journaling.
your grades in school were always strange. the way teachers would say things like it feels like you're not trying. you could touch stars in the stuff you cared about. well, sometimes. god be willing. homework average zero. oops! your english teacher's wrinkled brow: i know you know this stuff. what the fuck are you doing?
it isn't the showering, it's the mirror before the shower and the soft horrible pull of your naked physique. you have to avoid eye contact completely or else it'll be 93 minutes later and you'll have picked at your skin until every little pore is bleeding. you have to stand up but standing is tiring and also you should have remembered to buy more soap but you never remember anything. maybe get out of the shower and while it's still running and you're still dripping wet, use your phone to take a note. make a note to get your groceries. let the shower run while you stand half-in half-out and get lost in your phone for a moment. come back out when the water runs cold and now you have to sprint to get ready.
your grandmother's frown. you're just being lazy. protestant work ethics in a house that isn't even protestant. she says she just learned different but she means learned better, doesn't she.
it's not that you can't send the email, it's that your hands have been hurting lately and the desk really is messy and also why the fuck would you even care about this thing? doesn't everyone else feel like they're drowning? hi brendon thanks so much for sending! will review and get back to you shortly. but now you're on the internet, close the tab with tumblr on it. go on, close it. feel the little soft vapor of boredom come up and over your eyeteeth and make everything overwhelming and itchy.
literally all you have to do is put on shoes to go outside. you're literally already dressed, that's the hard part of this whole thing. literally just put the shoes on. just... do it! do it! this shit is easy!
it's literally that easy. just stop taking all those stupid invisible steps. stop following your strange made-up rules. times like this, even you're positive you're faking. you just don't want to bother with the cleaning and the cooking and the being-an-adult.
but then - shouldn't you be able to put these stupid shoes on? nobody's even looking. go on kid. life is out there! just take the leap!
get moving.
“no one in town speaks your feral / tongue.”
— — Silas Melvin, from “Neurosis,” Grit

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Gregory Orr, Concerning The Book That Is The Body Of The Beloved
Bruce LaBruce and Klaus von Brücker, No Skin Off My Ass, 1991
“No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark. You only run for the border when you see the whole city running as well. The boy you went to school with, who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory, is holding a gun bigger than his body. You only leave home when home won’t let you stay.”
— — Warsan Shire, from “Home,” Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice in Her Head
This body isn’t a trial run for your real life. Take your life
in your hands. Make your hands useful or you’ll be sorry. You say sorry
more than anything else.
— Natalie Wee, from “Ten Years after Diagnosis,” Beast at Every Threshold

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Lunch Poems / Frank O’Hara