watchoutforintellect

[watchoutforintellect]

Beware feeling you’re not good enough to deserve it. Beware feeling you’re too good to need it. Beware all the hatred you’ve stored up inside you, and the locks on your tender places.

Audre Lorde, from a letter to Pat Parker in December 1985

[watchoutforintellect]

South Stack, Wales buy prints

[watchoutforintellect]

late afternoon and the air dissolves to luminous and elongated molecules. A heartfelt mercury as delicate as compelling as the melted movements of your lips

June Jordan, from the Foreword of Haruku/Love Poems

[watchoutforintellect]

But it was a May afternoon and with its perfume the fresh air was an open flower. So she thought it was marvelous and strange to be walking the streets—with the wind ruffling her hair. She couldn’t remember when she’d last been alone, with just herself.

Clarice Lispector, from Complete Stories; “Beauty and the Beast or a Wound too Great,”

[watchoutforintellect]

I need as much spring air as I can get. Its healing quality sustains me. I miss your eyes; the way we look at each other. I am certain that you already know that but I feel like writing you love letters all day long without a single pause.

Juliette Drouet, from a letter to Victor Hugo 

[watchoutforintellect]

Shameless self-promotion warning I am selling some of my photography as prints/digital downloads, 50% of any sales are being donated to War Child's Gaza Emergency appeal

[watchoutforintellect]

George Seferis, from "Mythistorema" featured in "George Seferis: Collected Poems"

[watchoutforintellect]

George Seferis, from Mythistorema featured in "George Seferis: Collected Poems"

[watchoutforintellect]

Metaphors about death are for poets who think ghosts care about sound. When I die, I promise to haunt your forever. One day, I’ll write about the flowers like we own them.

Noor Hindi, from "Fuck your lecture on craft, My people are dying"

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buy print here

[watchoutforintellect]

Last year I saw the blossoms up close as if for the first time, the wind scattering them across the land and over the walls. I want the flower that could speak on my behalf to be tattooed on the part of me that is difficult to see. I want it to identify me if I leave, to adorn me and to speak of my need for decoration.

Amna Muhammad Abu Safat, from Popular and Known to No One (translated by Lena Tuffaha) featured in Poems from Palestine

[watchoutforintellect]

I feel that I have had a blow; but it is not, as I thought as a child, simply a blow from an enemy hidden behind the cotton wool of daily life; it is or will become a revelation of some order; it is a token of some real thing behind appearances; and I make it real by putting it into words. It is only by putting it into words that I make it whole; this wholeness means that it has lost its power to hurt me; it gives me, perhaps because by doing so I take away the pain, a great delight to put the severed parts together.

Virginia Woolf, from Moments of Being, Autobiographical Writings

[watchoutforintellect]

Careful how you bare yer soul Careful not to bare it at all

Patti Smith, from Woolgathering

[watchoutforintellect]

easily becoming, through an open eye, monstrous and beautiful.

Patti Smith, from Woolgathering

[watchoutforintellect]

Alcatraz is really a Wes Anderson movie set

[watchoutforintellect]

And maybe I will rip out by the roots my postponed hope for love, I will remember that the fruit of every human limit is memory's absence, which plunges me into becoming...

Alda Merini, from “Will I Be Alone” in Love Lessons: Selected Poetry of Alda Merini (translated by Susan Stewart)

[watchoutforintellect]

Still full of blood and hopes.

Wislawa Szymborska, from ‘Funeral (I)’ featured in Map: Collected and Last Poems