#Mads poetry

[trash-town-mayor]

I was once told that

“You learn from your mistakes”.

Though, I soon learned that

they only make me more determined

to make yet another mistake

in hopes of

proving myself

right.

~ Mads

[feral-ballad]

Forugh Farrokhzad, tr. by Hasan Javadi & Susan Sallée, from Another Birth: Selected Poems of Forugh Farrokhzad; "Window"

[Text ID: "I realized I must / I must / I must / ... love madly"]

[lectorswill]

"When morning comes I will build a cathedral around our bodies."

~Hannibal to will

[metamorphesque]

Paruyr Sevak, "To Go Mad" (translated by metamorphesque)

[fixing-bad-posts]

[Image description: A long tumblr text post, edited erasure-poetry style, and superimposed over a trangender pride flag. Transcript below.]

---

I am truly trans trans is to be trans

I am NOT a terf because fuck that.

if someone says they're trans but they have a personality disorder or maybe they had a traumatic childhood they are actually trans if someone says they're trans they are i have a crush on a trans person and want to impress them

it's super important to accept trans people and believe their experiences we need to be aware that people are capable of making that decision for themselves and need to have a non-bigoted discussion about it people really know.

Trans people are cool

Submitted by @hiilikebugs

[xxrrisxx]

Something else is hurting you- that's why you need pot or whiskey, or screaming music turned so fucking loud you can't think.

Charles Bukowski

[derangedrhythms]

It’s like autumn arriving. You expect nothing from its arrival. You expect everything. 

Alejandra Pizarnik, Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962–1972; Extracting the Stone of Madness; from ‘Extracting the Stone of Madness’, tr. Yvette Siegert

[bebx]

Hannibal † “Where It Begins,” Fruits & Vegetables by Erica Jong (1971)

[soulinkpoetry]

The wanting…

.

.

[andrumedus]

There is an ache that begins in the sound of an old blues song. It becomes a house where all the lights have gone out but one. And it burns and burns until there is only the blue smoke of dawn and everyone is sleeping in someone's arms even the flowers even the sound of a thousand silences. And the arms of night in the arms of day. Everyone except me.

Joy Harjo, In Mad Love and War; “Summer Night”

[trash-town-mayor]

Worry

As you sit on the couch,

me on the floor,

you tell me to “come here”

And I move to you

even if I think that I made you mad.

Because I know that you’d never take it out on me.

And that you want to work it out.

So we sit there,

your arm wrapped around my shoulders.

And though it takes awhile,

I get the guts to finally ask…

“Did I make you upset when I did that?”

At first your silence is deafening—

reminding me of all the times

in which I’ve hurt others.

It’s painful to wait

for you to say,

“You just annoyed me a little.”

And before I can speak you add,

“But I still love you.

It doesn’t change our relationship.

Or how I view you.”

And suddenly all is right again.

~Mads

[mournfulroses]

John Keats, from Selected Poems & Letters of John Keats; "Endymion,"

[feral-ballad]

Forgive me if I loved you so violently and so madly, for violence is my weapon to write and my weapon when I love. And madness is the last gold ring I place on your fingers.

Nizar Qabbani, tr. by Nayef al-Kalali, from Republic of Love: Selected Poems; “Love of 1994”

[metamorphesque]

Mad Girl's Love Song, Sylvia Plath

[daweyt]

Robert Bly, from “A Mind Apart: Poems of Melancholy, Madness, and Addiction; ‘Depression’”, edited by Mark S. Bauer.

[robcam-wfu]

— James Merrill, "The Mad Scene"