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i am running into the new year

by Lucille Clifton

i am running into a new year and the old years blow back like a wind that i catch in my hair like strong fingers like all my old promises and it will be hard to let go of what i said to myself about myself when i was sixteen and twentysix and thirtysix even thirtysix but i am running into a new year and i beg what i love and i leave to forgive me

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Valentine for Ernest Mann

by Naomi Shihab Nye

You can’t order a poem like you order a taco. Walk up to the counter, say, “I’ll take two” and expect it to be handed back to you on a shiny plate. Still, I like your spirit. Anyone who says, “Here’s my address, write me a poem,” deserves something in reply. So I’ll tell you a secret instead: poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes, they are sleeping. They are the shadows drifting across our ceilings the moment before we wake up. What we have to do is live in a way that lets us find them. Once I knew a man who gave his wife two skunks for a valentine. He couldn’t understand why she was crying. “I thought they had such beautiful eyes.” And he was serious. He was a serious man who lived in a serious way. Nothing was ugly just because the world said so. He really liked those skunks. So, he re-invented them as valentines and they became beautiful. At least, to him. And the poems that had been hiding in the eyes of skunks for centuries crawled out and curled up at his feet. Maybe if we re-invent whatever our lives give us we find poems. Check your garage, the odd sock in your drawer, the person you almost like, but not quite. And let me know.

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Apartment with dark blue bedroom | styling by Lingsell & photos by Ono

THENORDROOM.COM - INSTAGRAM - PINTEREST - FACEBOOK

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“Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and they will come forth, later, in uglier ways.”

— Sigmund Freud

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“The time of hot chocolaty mornings and toasty marshmallow evenings.”

Pooh’s Grand Adventure: The Search for Christopher Robin (1997) dir. Karl Geurs

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Happiness Makes up in Height for What It Lacks in Length

by Robert Frost

Oh, stormy stormy world, The days you were not swirled Around with mist and cloud, Or wrapped as in a shroud, And the sun’s brilliant ball Was not in part or all Obscured from mortal view— Were days so very few I can but wonder whence I get the lasting sense Of so much warmth and light. If my mistrust is right It may be altogether From one day’s perfect weather, When starting clear at dawn, The day swept clearly on To finish clear at eve. I verily believe My fair impression may Be all from that one day No shadow crossed but ours As through its blazing flowers We went from house to wood For change of solitude.

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Manimukta by Preeti Mohan x Weaver Story | Festive 2019

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Self-destructive thoughts/actions are just an attempt to prove that you are still in control.

Surrender.

6.27.21.

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I let bad love betray me once But I was barely outta high school then And I guess I fear the same results That none will take me as I am I wanna be loved, I wanna be whole again So tuck my hair behind my ears and touch my soul again The window is wide, the post unfulfilled And I just ask you to be patient if you'll have me still

(via https://open.spotify.com/track/2jtoc6Pwym5dWlbaGx8fzR?si=qAOoyt7VT26lAXJ6GBFg_g)

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source

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Ophelia, 1880, by Sarah Bernhardt (1844-1923)

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The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid