#will upload poems

[spelllingandthemysteryschool]

When my mother told me she wished she had gotten a divorce before I was born, I could tell from her tone that this was different from all the times she’d look at me and ask God, like I was God, why he had punished her with me. It wasn’t about trying to make me wish I was a better child, just that I was not a child anymore and she felt she had to warn me not to repeat her life but continue it and perhaps by continuing it, set it right. Once she made me kneel facing the wall and stretch my arms as high as they would go, and watched my little back tremble until I could hold my arms no longer. When she asked me what I’d learned I remember I wanted to scream I hate you but knew somehow it would hurt her more if I screamed I hate myself, I hate myself, so I did, over and over, I knew when you watch a person you love collapse into themselves you want nothing more than to run into the boxing ring, the battleground of them, take all the blows they deal, all the shots they fire into the enemy of their own being. If I could I would without a second thought unravel the knot of my mother’s heart into something like sense, and if it’s true what they say about how when you have a child your heart begins to live outside your body I would undo my life and throw it to her like a rope, like I were a climber at the top of the mountain and she’d left something up there before making her way down and needed to go back for it one more time. If I saw my own heart, helpless and unknowing creature, living outside me, I would also want to tell it to kneel against the wall and raise its arms until it could account for what it had made of my life. In a note she left in my bag when I went to sleepaway camp she said to be my mother was the greatest joy of her life and I knew, even at ten, there were greater joys she had wanted, they lived in her dreams and disappeared when she woke to make my breakfast each morning, and I wanted so badly then to be those dreams, to disappear.

Helplessness’ Child by Kaylee Young-Eun Jeong

[typewriter-worries]

Concerning the Book That Is the Body of the Beloved, Gregory Orr

[aboutmercy]

driveway by richard siken.

[edeer]

NIGHT IN THE WOODS

This is called "There's no reception in Possum Springs"

[aurosoulart]

Mostly, I want to be kind. (x)

[7pleiades7]

Acme and Septimius (c. 1868) by Sir Frederic Leighton, 1st Baron Leighton, PRA (British, 1830-1896), oil on canvas, diameter: 99 cm, The Ashmolean Museum of Art, Oxford

[arsanimarum]

[Except for your eyes, / no blade can control me, / no sharpened knife.]

Vladimir Mayakovsky, Lilichka

[poems-of-the-anentomologist]

a haiku

I see him

the banana man

oh god fuck

[strxwberrymllk]

source

[mjalti]

Fasano’s Twitter

[peaceliliesandtea]

The Orange by Wendy Cope

[spelllingandthemysteryschool]

The Endlessness by Ada Limón

[typewriter-worries]

Failing and Flying by Jack Gilbert

[ Text ID: Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew. ]

[apiratefellinlovewithastar]

people aren’t homes

[honeycrispjamz]

[mediapen]

sorry oscar. there is something lgbt happening behind u