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he’s so cute I need to watch the lights of his eyes fade as I choke him to death

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i was almost someone good.

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my body might is alive, but my soul died years ago

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I will die your desire. I will die your dream wife. I will die a young mother. I will die the girl laying in your bed against your chest. I will die asking you if you’re okay. I will die haunted by all the women. I will die dreaming of flying away. I will die obsessed with breaking my neck. I will die remembering when I smiled into your smile. I will die remembering you before. I will die begging for sex. I will die begging. I will die. Die.

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Presumably May 28, 1916 Letters to Felice by Franz Kafka First published : 1973

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Holding a babe in my arms I feel nothing yet everything small all at once

May 28th, 1929 Virginia Woolf, “A Writer’s Diary” (1918 - 1941)

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Marina Tsvetaeva from Phaedra: a drama in verse; with New Year's Letter and other Long Poems

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Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

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Virginia Woolf, The Waves originally published: 1931

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Sylvia Plath, from a letter featured in The Letters of Sylvia Plath Vol. 1: 1940-1956

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The Art of Mindfulness

Pussy makes the world go round, and without it men are lost, but with it men are simultaneously led and depraved all in unison.

I wrote these words without a second thought. I never would have believed this wholeheartedly before because I believed some men had it in their heart to love with all of their mind and body and soul. I believed they were strong enough to make a choice over and over again without turning back on it. I think that’s why God says to love him with all of our heart, soul, and mind, because he’s challenging and commanding us to make a conscious choice to love him, a mindful one, one that is rare and difficult.

If we are to be different, we are to be mindful and painfully aware.

How often have we numbed ourselves from what we’re really feeling by doing things that don’t give us any real pleasure at all, and calling it a “habit” or addiction? And how often have we believed that running from what breaks us in two actually fulfills us more than being broken, when sitting with our brokenness is the sole reason that we mindfully make choices to lead us away from being broken again. What if that is the point, what if free will is the point of living and that every decision we make is paramount to changing our entire life. And if a huge part of our life is our mind, then who’s to say that making a choice with all of your mind isn’t equal to choosing death or life?

If every day we are choosing to live or die, then while we still have a choice, it is our duty to choose to live.

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Fyodor Dostoevsky //Jean-Paul Sartre

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Anne Sexton, from a letter featured in Anne Sexton; A Self-Portrait In Letters

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You stand by my hand, the man said. His eyes bore into me from across the way, a stark reflection of mine. His voice echoed in my mind as sunlight filtered down my face through the window, waking my mind and my eyes. I heard him throughout the day, and into the night, even as the night is forgotten. God prevails, he woke me up that day with those words. My soul agreed. I dreamt of a house, large and open, with a thousand bright spaces that sunlight danced and freely moved in. I stood back and admired it, wiping the sweat from my brow as my muscles ached and my soul wept. The part I kept to myself, I fell to my knees and lifted my hands, offering the house freely back to him. I woke up and the dream started to creep into empty spaces of my life. I knew now that I wanted to build a house, one that light could live in, one that was filled by light.

Maybe that’s why we suffer, so we can learn what light truly is in our life. I would give up a thousand years if that means I could tell my younger self that wisdom is not the true burden, that consequences of unwise actions are, and that I did nothing wrong.