#sentences**

Rupi Kaur (born 5 October 1992) is a Canadian poet, writer, illustrator and performer. She published a book of poetry and prose entitled milk and honeyin 2015. The book deals with themes of violence, abuse, love, loss, and femininity. milk and honey has sold over a million copies, reaching #1 and spending over a year on the New York Times bestsellers list. (source)

There is another Milk & Honey sentence meme going around in the rpc, but I decided to break out my copy and give it a shot. This will be split up into three or four (or more?) parts just like the book.

Feel free to rephrase and change pronouns/words to fit your muse/the situation. 

The Loving

The closest thing to God on this earth is a woman’s body.

The entire universe rested at my mother’s feet.

No, it won’t be love at first sight when we meet. It’ll be love at first remembrance.

Every revolution starts and ends with your lips. 

What am I to you?

You are every hope I’ve ever had in human form. 

My favorite thing about you is your smell. 

I know I should crumble for better reasons. 

But have you seen the boy? He brings the sun to its knees every night. 

You are the faint line between faith and blindly waiting. 

Nothing is safer than the sound of you reading out loud to me. 

I am learning how to love him by loving myself. 

I am sorry I am not an easy person to want. 

Who said I wanted easy? I don’t crave easy. I crave goddamn difficult. 

I am ready for you. I have always been ready for you. 

I do not want to have you to fill the empty parts of me. 

I want to be full on my own. I want to be so complete I could light a whole city and then I want to have you. 

The truth is you make my tongue so weak it forgets what language to speak in. 

What drives you crazy? What keeps you up at night? 

So that’s what you do. You command attention. 

You might not have been my first love, but you were the love that made all the other loves irrelevant. 

You’ve touched me without even touching me. 

How do you turn a forest fire like me so soft I turn into running water? 

You look like you smell of honey and no pain. 

Let me have a taste of that. 

You look like you smell of honey and no pain. Let me have a taste of that.

You talk too much. 

I can think of better ways to use that mouth. 

You talk too much. I can think of better ways to use that mouth.

It’s your voice that undresses me. 

On days like this I need you to run your fingers through my hair and speak softly. 

I want your hands to hold---not my hands. Your kiss to kiss---not my lips. But other places. 

I need someone who knows how to struggle as well as I do. Someone willing to hold my feet in their lap on days it is too difficult to stand. 

Make those pretty little fingers dance for me. 

We’re like fingers on thorns, honey. We know exactly where it hurts. 

So I called work and they said you’d already left a couple of hours ago. Where were you for those couple hours? 

I know. I know your excuses make all the sense in the world. 

I love you so much. I’m sorry I thought you were lying. 

Rupi Kaur (born 5 October 1992) is a Canadian poet, writer, illustrator and performer. She published a book of poetry and prose entitled milk and honey in 2015. The book deals with themes of violence, abuse, love, loss, and femininity. milk and honey has sold over a million copies, reaching #1 and spending over a year on the New York Times bestsellers list. (source)

There is another Milk & Honey sentence meme going around in the rpc, but I decided to break out my copy and give it a shot. This will be split up into three or four (or more?) parts just like the book.

Feel free to rephrase and change pronouns/words to fit your muse/the situation. For 

The Hurting

How is it so easy for you to be kind to people? 

He was the first boy to teach me my body was for giving to those that wanted.

You have been taught your legs are a pit stop for for men that need to rest. A vacant body empty enough for guests, but no one ever comes and is willing to stay. 

It is your blood in my veins. How am I supposed to forget?

You were so afraid of my voice, I decided to be afraid of it too.

Every time you tell your daughter you yell at her out of love, you teach her to confuse anger with kindness. 

I’ve had sex, but I don’t know what making love feels like. 

If I knew what safety looked like, I would have spent less time falling into arms that are not. 

The idea that we are so capable of love, but still choose to be toxic...

The ___ will tear you in half, but it will not end you. 

You have sadness living in places sadness shouldn’t live. 

A daughter should not have to beg her father for a relationship. 

Trying to convince myself I should take up space is like writing with my left hand when I was born to use my right. 

The idea of shrinking is hereditary. 

You tell me to quiet down because my opinions make me less beautiful. 

I was not made with a fire in my belly so I could be put out. 

I was not made with a lightness on my tongue so I could be easy to swallow. 

I was made heavy: half blade and half silk; difficult to forget and not easy for the mind to follow. 

Your mother is in the habit of offering more love than you can carry. 

You are a war: the border between two countries, the collateral damage. 

The art of being empty is simple. 

The only reason you know you’re still alive is from the heaving of your chest. 

You look just like your mother. You both have the same eyes---and the hands. 

You look just like your mother. 

You both have the same eyes---and the hands.

I guess I do carry her tenderness well. 

But your rage... Your mother doesn’t wear that anger. 

The rage is the one thing I get from my father. 

The women in my family learned to live with their mouths closed. 

You always call to say nothing in particular. You ask what I’m doing or where I am and when the silence stretches like a lifetime between us, I scramble to find questions to keep the conversation going. 

Franz Kafka was a German-language novelist and short story writer, widely regarded as one of the major figures of 20th-century literature.  This sentence meme is taken from his correspondence with Felice Brauer, with quotes found online from the published collection of letters, Letters to Felice, which can be purchased in ebook and paperback.

Feel free to change things as needed to suit your muses and enjoy! I will be looking over my PDF of Letters to Milena before I publish the second part of this.

--- LIZZY

I mustn’t look at you too much, or I won’t be able to take my eyes off you at all.

I am not actually tired, but numb and heavy, and can’t find the right words.

All I can say is: Stay with me, don’t leave me.

“I am not actually tired, but numb and heavy, and can’t find the right words. All I can say is: Stay with me, don’t leave me.

There are times when I am convinced I am unfit for any human relationship. 

And whether you like it or not, I belong to you. 

I belong to you; there is really no other way of expressing it, and that is not strong enough.

I am jealous of all the people in your letter, those named and those unnamed, men and girls, business people and writers.

When dealing with myself I am powerless. 

I am not well; I could have built the Pyramids with the effort it takes me to cling on to life and reason. 

You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart; imagine my heartbeat when you are in this state. 

It certainly was not my intention to make you suffer, yet i have done so; obviously it never will be my intention to make you suffer, yet I shall always do so. 

Nothing unites two people so completely, especially if, like you and me, all they have is words. 

You will get to know me better; there are still a number of horrible recesses in me that you don’t know. 

One has either to take people as they are, or leave them as they are. One cannot change them, one can merely disturb their balance. 

A human being, after all, is not made up of single pieces, from which a single piece can be taken out and replaced by something else. 

The fact that no one knows where I am is my only happiness. 

If only I could prolong this forever! It would be far more just than death. 

I am empty and futile in every corner of my being, even in my unhappiness. 

No, I didn't imagine my being alone with you the way you do. 

If I want the impossible, I want it in its entirety. 

Entirely alone, dearest, I wanted us to be entirely alone on this earth, entirely alone under the sky, and to lead my life, my life that is yours, without distraction and with complete concentration, in you. 

But when I want to draw close to someone, and fully commit myself, then my misery is assured. Then I am nothing, and what can I do with nothingness? 

I must admit that your letter this morning (by the afternoon it had changed) arrived at just the right moment; I was in need of those very words. 

There exists some kind of sorcery by which two people, without seeing each other, without talking to each other, can at least discover the greater part about each other’s past, literally in a flash, without having to tell each other all and everything.

Farewell, and let me reinforce this greeting by lingering over your hand. 

I am incapable of thinking deliberately; my thoughts run into a wall. I can grasp the essence of things in isolation, but I am quite incapable of coherent, unbroken thinking. 

I can’t even tell a story properly; in fact, I can scarcely talk. 

When you pose that question now I can only say: I love you, ___, to the limits of my strength, in this respect you can trust me entirely. 

I do not know myself completely. Surprises and disappointments about myself follow each other in endless succession.

What I hope is that these surprises and disappointments will be mine alone; I shall use all my strength to see that none but the pleasant, the pleasantest of surprises of my nature will touch you. 

I can vouch for this, but what I cannot vouch for is that I shall always succeed. 

If only I had mailed Saturday’s letter, in which I implored you never to write to me again, and in which I gave a similar promise. Oh God, what prevented me from sending that letter? 

All would be well. But is a peaceful solution possible now? 

Would it help if we wrote to each other only once a week? No, if my suffering could be cured by such means it would not be serious. 

And already I foresee that I shan’t be able to endure even the Sunday letters. 

If we value our lives, let us abandon it all… I am forever fettered to myself, that’s what I am, and that’s what I must try to live with.

If one bolts the doors and windows against the world, one can from time to time create the semblance and almost the beginning of the reality of a beautiful life. 

Trista Mateer is an American writer and poet. She won the Goodreads Choice Award in 2015 for poetry with The Dogs I Have Kissed. I have seen a lot of quotes of her writing on tumblr and I think her writing is absolutely phenomenal. If you want to support her writing—much of which is free online—check out her online store which features physical chapbooks and other items, or her patreon/ko-fi. The Dogs I Have Kissed and Honeybee can also be found as ebooks on Amazon.

This sentence meme uses quotes that I’ve sourced online. Adjust sentences as needed, but remember where it comes from! And if you can, please support!  

For more poetry sentence memes. For more Trista Mateer poetry sentences.

  —LIZZY  

I’m not sorry. I’m doing the right thing. I swear I’m doing the right thing. 

I have absolutely no doubts about walking away from you. 

This is the best thing. This is for the best. I have to do this. 

I am bad for you and sometimes you are bad for me and this isn’t working anymore. Nothing is working anymore. 

I don’t know how to talk to you without feeling like nothing I have to say is important enough or wise enough or good enough. 

I don’t feel good enough anymore. You don’t make me feel good enough anymore. I don’t make you feel good anymore. 

I have to do this. I have to do this. Please don’t pretend you didn’t feel this coming on. We’ve been circling the drain for months now. 

We both have things to do and we tried doing them together but it just doesn’t work. We just don’t work anymore. I know we used to. I swear we used to. 

I have to do this. I want things you disapprove of and you want things that I cannot give you. 

You still have time to do all of the things you want to. I promise. You just have to let me step out of the way. 

I have to do this. I have to. I have to get the fuck out of here. 

Nobody is in love with me and everything is still warm. Still soft. 

Love that needs to be weighed down in order to stay is not love. 

When I was packing to leave, I took the curtains down and let light into our bedroom for the first time in months. It almost looked like nothing bad happened there.

Hey, is your ex-boyfriend Rome? because everything leads back to him.

My heart is buzzing again. My heart is a wasp’s nest. My heart is a monument to absence.

I put my regret into a box and write FREE TO A GOOD HOME on the side of it.

What is in me, is in you. And I’m sorry for it. And I’m not sorry for it.

I love you and I still wonder if someone else could love me better.

There is a woman in our bed and I think she is supposed to be me, but she rarely ever feels like me.

It passes for intimacy the way almost anything passes for water when the well’s run dry or you’ve misplaced the river.

Who taught you that love is only good until it’s opened? Who told you that it spoils? Why did you take it so literally?

I wanted to be the place you put everything down, but it’s okay if I’m not.

You needed to love something other than yourself to feel alive and it wasn’t me. 

I don’t know how our bodies got so used to the space between them.

I keep trying out different ways to say goodbye. Not to you. Because we already did that. But to us. To the idea of us.

I read somewhere that it’s okay to miss people even if you don’t want them in your life anymore; and I hope that’s true. I hope everything I feel is okay. 

Tonight I kissed three people on the mouth because I still don’t know what you taste like.

I feel like I am always two parts tequila, one part longing.

We outgrew each other in angry uncoordinated ways. 

It is so easy to make monsters out of the people I have loved. 

Tell me that you have been dreaming of me. That you wake up in cold sweats, gulping in air.

It would be a shame to look back on this and (out of bitterness) not call it love. 

Today I accidentally told someone that I love you. 

She does not remind me of anything; everything reminds me of her. 

Trista Mateer is an American writer and poet. She won the Goodreads Choice Award in 2015 for poetry with The Dogs I Have Kissed. I have seen a lot of quotes of her writing on tumblr and I think her writing is absolutely phenomenal. If you want to support her writing---much of which is free online---check out her online store which features physical chapbooks and other items, or her patreon/ko-fi. The Dogs I Have Kissed and Honeybee can also be found as ebooks on Amazon.

This sentence meme uses quotes that I’ve sourced online. Adjust sentences as needed, but remember where it comes from! And if you can, please support!   

For more poetry sentence memes. For more Trista Mateer poetry sentences.

   ---LIZZY  

My hands are still shaking from nights spent not knowing how to want you.

I’m sorry that I am back and forth, push and pull instead of effortless simplicity.

I hope one day somebody loves you so much that they do not waste their time trying to fix you.

Sometimes I think I resented you so much it felt like love.

I will greet you with a mouth full of barbed wire until you learn to stop coming after me with your hands.


Don’t you ever let another human being tear you apart.

I still remember you as a little girl who overwaters plants because she doesn’t know when to stop giving.

I do not tell her that sometimes it feels like compromising yourself is part of growing up. 

I loved her more than I loved you and I’m sorry that you knew it. 

You are still the first person I want to share new things with.

Hurt me once: shame on me. Hurt me twice: shame on me. Hurt me three times: shame on me but fuck you. 

Hurt me four times and we’ll get severed-head biblical.

Can we say goodbye again? I miss the way you rip me open.

I still have a lot of growing to do and I know there is more room for it in your absence.

Some people are born flight risks. It is not your fault that they cannot seem to stand in place. They are not leaving you; they are just leaving.

And now that I am older, I don’t give a damn about sin. I will be the first to cast one.

I’d suck salt off your fingers
 like a fucking animal.


I spend too much time thinking about fucking you.

In a parallel universe or another world or a different life, we sit across from each other at the kitchen table and go over the grocery list. 

I know that I am lucky to be alive at the same time as you, but I also know that you are more afraid of opening up than losing me.

I know that it’s reaching but I just want to leave your name on a page somewhere and never need to come back to it. 

I have grown into this cruel thing with running shoes, comfortable only when I lock myself away.

I don’t know what it is in me that yearns to be the lifeboat that people throw themselves at when they are drowning.

I want you to know that it is okay not to love me.

You are not the first person who found it a little too tough, who took two steps back when my jaws started snapping. 

Pablo Neruda was the pen name and, later, legal name of the Chilean poet-diplomat and politician Ricardo Eliécer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto. While Neruda was a prolific poet during his lifetime, this sentence meme sources from Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada, published in 1924 when Neruda was 19. Veinte poemas has become Neruda's best-known work, and has sold more than 20 million copies.  It remains the best selling poetry book in the Spanish language ever, almost 100 years after its first publication.  (information sourced from Wikipedia)

This is part one of... probably two, using poems 1-8, and 14. I’m not listing the translator because I’m sourcing from several places and changing things up according to my own understanding/preference.  Please note that these poems are noted for their sensuality and eroticism or w/e, so I’ll go ahead and tag #NSFW in the text for convenience.

As usual, feel free to make changes as needed in wording/phrasing/pronouns, etc.  Change physical descriptors as needed!   ---LIZZY

Every day you play with the light of the universe. 

You are like nobody since I love you. 

Let me spread you out among yellow garlands. 

Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? 

Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

Cling to me as though you were frightened. 

Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle, and even your breasts smell of it. 

I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.

How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.  

I go so far as to think that you own the universe. 

I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. 

I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

Body of a woman, lush hills, lush thighs, you look like the world, spread out in surrender. 

The birds fled from me, and night swamped me with its crushing invasion.

To survive myself I forged you like a weapon, like an arrow in my bow, a stone in my sling. 

But the hour of vengeance falls, and I love you. 

Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace.

In you the rivers sing and my soul flees in them as you desire, and you send it where you will.

The morning is full of storm at the heart of summer.

So that you may hear me, my words sometimes thin themselves like the footprints of gulls on beaches.

You are the guilty one in this bloody sport.

You fill up everything, everything.

They are more accustomed than you to my sadness.

Love me, companion. Don’t abandon me. Follow me.

My words become colored by your love.

You occupy everything, you occupy everything.

I remember you as you were in the last autumn.

I feel your eyes travel and the autumn is distant: grey beret, voice of bird, heart like a home towards which my deep longings migrated and my kisses fell, happy as embers.

You keep only darkness, my own distant woman.

You have deep eyes where the night flutters. Cool arms of flower and a lap of roses.