“God, how painful it is, being angry.”
— Simone de Beauvoir, tr. by Justin O’Brien, from “The Woman Destroyed,” (via violentwavesofemotion)
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@rabbit-muses
“God, how painful it is, being angry.”
— Simone de Beauvoir, tr. by Justin O’Brien, from “The Woman Destroyed,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

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“…how much rage was seething inside me.”
— Margaret Atwood, from “The Testaments,” released c. September 2019
think I’m supposed to want to live but mostly I want to be forgotten. I think freedom might just be another word for disappearance.
— Jody Chan, from “Elegy for the Pre-Packaged Pie I Ate on March 14, 2018,” published in Hot Metal Bridge
my anger is not beautiful. it is cold and biting, bitter, all teeth. a wounded dog. i am desperate. thats enough to make me something close to deadly
“It’s easier than you would think / to leave & never be found.”
— Laura Villareal, from “Boiling Puffins,” published in Waxwing (via lifeinpoetry)

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Lucille Clifton, from The Collected Poems of L. C.; “Leukemia As White Rabbit,”
You ever just sit and realize how fucking angry you are like why do I have so much damn anger, my whole body is just fuckin shaking with such an ugly rage and I can’t get rid of it
I do not regret my body
but I regret the hands of most
who have touched it.
— Kayleb Rae Candrilli, from “Transgender Heroic: All This Ridiculous Flesh,” published in The Normal School
“My anxious heart is eating up my body, eating up my nerves, eating up my brain.”
— Katherine Mansfield, from a diary entry featured in “Journals,” c. June 1915
“If I am anything, it is violence.”
— Alejandra Pizarnik, from ‘[…] Of the Silence’, Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962-1972 (trans. Yvette Siegert)

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“I open my mouth, hope my mother’s sad heart does not stumble drunk out of me.”
— Desireé Dallagiacomo, from Sink (via aangs)
“Composed, commanding, contemptuous, a little melancholy,”
— Virginia Woolf, from The Complete Works; “Jacob’s Room,” wr. c. 1922
moments // tove lo
“Anger is funny. It sits snarling in you your whole life just waiting for perfect ironic moments to emerge.”
— Lidia Yuknavitch, from “The Chronology of Water: A Memoir,” wr. c. 2011
“You sleep coiled; tightly wound. Hands are fists beneath pillows, clenched above cotton sheets. You are at war, even in your dreams.”
— Rest Achilles, the world will wait | p.d (via p.d vulpe)

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If there are trees you aren’t alone
“I’d bite myself and take out my feelings with my teeth.”
— Dacia Maraini, tr. by Tim Vode, from “Dreams of Clytemnestra,” wr. c. 1994