#flowercryptid

everyone is begging you to stop this false grief / turn it out, hack it to pieces, bury it-- / i’m telling you, / all of your poems are about earth / about returning to a place, / any place, / any place that accepts you like a fever dream. / you make yourself up in the image others want to see / yourself included / take all the bad parts out / and make yourself into a martyr. 

{ playlist game }

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bloodstream soccer mommy 

false memories driven starting down from my barren knees, i ran too fast, fell down on my face ; 

love deserved ember island

let’s make a deal, if you find it you’ll owe me a lie, i was fortunate, baby, before you walked into my life ;

nightmares little triste x white silas

if you stay ripping at the seams you’re gonna make the cut worse, you’d go far if you stopped fucking yourself over, you’re so smart but you’ll never learn ; 

shrike hozier

and i had no idea on what ground i was founded, all of that goodness is going with you now, then when i met you, my virtues uncounted ; 

even julien baker 

it’s no good if the pain doesn’t make you feel like you earned it and i probably deserved it ; 

golden age ethel cain

i guess that i’ll just go outside and watch the fire and fields of gold fly farther away from me, got what i wanted but it’s never enough ; 

so far so fast the national

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“I think you’ll love her,” Krya said, and went to fix the crystal flowers that pinned their intricate coiffature in place, using the wide round of his pupil for a darkglass. “But then, everyone does. She’s just so—you know?”

“So,” Koriol says, mouth curled up at the edges, standing on a thin strip of wood suspended in air and holding a very suspicious burlap bag, “I don’t suppose I could convince and/or threaten you into believing there’s nothing vaguely criminal going on here?”

“What’s the plan for convincing us - ” Myra chances with a suggestive tilt of eyebrows, and, really, is she expected to do anything else, and - 

“Well,” Koriol answers, equally suggestively.

1. bees !!!

2. flowers, literally every time i see a flower i’m like, oh quinn?

national poetry month recs day 24: winterbloom by @flowercryptid

we’re tucked away in a teacup alcove, all sweet-sticky fingers and hungry eyes. there’s so much out there, but here are the warm blankets, the satin-smooth of nagging sleep. there’s so much out there and it’ll still be there if we wait, so i’ll wait — this is enough. (2/2)