withallmylove-ab
89 posts
A collection of my favorite poems, some of them my own. (This is a back up account as I lost access to my old one ☹️)
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Text
“What’s wrong? Titanic asked me this morning, when she found me lying on the ocean floor with all my suitcases strewn open.
Oh, I dunno, I moaned. I was looking through National Geographic and saw some pictures of you, and thought I might come have a chat. You looked great, by the way, in the pictures.
Me? No. Titanic smiled. If anything I seem to have become a Picasso. And I have a beard.
It was true; she looked more like a collage of a ship. Strangely two-dimensional, in a crater of her own making: French doors, boilers, railings every which way. And she did have a bit of a beard-rust icicles hanging in red strands from her iron engines.
Sitting up in my own little crater, I sort-of blushed.
To be honest, I told Titanic, My honey’s leaving town soon and I’m afraid it’s gonna wreck me, so I dove down here.
Well come on in, Titanic said, but I’m not sure I’ve got what you’re looking for.
So in I climbed, through a window between two rust stalactites, and began to pace her great promenade. (Which should have been awesome, by the way — walking by the ghosts of all those waving handkerchiefs — except that I was in that feeling-sorry-for-yourself state where every hallway is the hallway of your own wretched mind, every ghost your own ghost, so I didn’t take a good look around.)
When I got to the Turkish baths, I sat on the edge of a barnacled tub and watched weird crabs scrabble at my feet.
I was hoping you’d teach me how to sink, I said. You who have spent a century underwater with 1500 skeletons in your chest.
I don’t know, said Titanic, I’m kind of a wreck.
Exactly! I said, Me too! I’m here to apprentice myself to wreckage. I’m here to apprentice myself to you! Great bearded lady, gargantuan ark, you floating hotel. With enough ballrooms in you to dance with everyone I’ve ever loved.
My heart has an iceberg with its name on it, I told Titanic, so I need your advice. Tell me, did you see the iceberg coming?
I did, Titanic said.
And you sailed right into it?
It was love, Titanic said.
And the band just kept playing? And the captain stayed at the wheel? What did it feel like to swallow seawater? Tell me, Titanic, how did it feel?
It felt like a hole in my side and then it felt like plummeting face first into the ice-cold ocean.
She’s a straight talker, the Titanic.
Alright, I said. Now let’s talk about rust. When my love leaves, I’m planning to weep stalactites from my chin. I will wear my sadness in long strands. Like you, I will be bearded by it.
Then I made a terrible noise. Eeeeeeeeeeeerkkkkkkkkkk! I’ve been practicing the sound of wrenching metal, I told her, from when my love leaves.
But you aren’t made of metal. Titanic said to me.
I’m a writer, I said, I can be made of anything.
Well then, be a writer. She said.
Be a writer? I paused, anemones between my toes. Okay. When my love leaves. I will start with SOS. I will Morse code odes as the whole world goes vertical. I will write nosedives as my torso splits in two.
And the next day I will write the stunned headlines, and the next day I will write the obituaries, and the next day I will write furious accusations, and the next day I will write lawsuits, and the next day I will write confessions of wrongdoing, and the next day I will write pardons, but I won’t really mean it, and the next day I will write sonnets, but they won’t fit the schema, and the next day I will write pleas, please, please come back. The next day I will write epitaphs, navigation maps, warnings for future generations about the hubris of human love. I will write quotas and queries and quizzes, I will write nonsense, I will write nonsense, I will write nonsense all the way down and no diving teams will find me, no robot arms will retrieve me in pieces, never will I be reassembled in plain air. No, I will remain whole, two miles down, with my suitcases strewn open, and in 100 years I will still be writing about this feeling, though my heart be a Picasso, though my heart be bearded at the bottom of the sea.
The Titanic let me cry for a while, my sobs echoing off her moldy mosaics.
Then she said: Girl, you’re too young for a beard like this. You’re never gonna get some if you rust over now.
I sniffled a little and scratched my name into the green slime of the tub.
The trouble with you humans is that you are so concerned with staying afloat. Go ahead, be gouged open by love. Gulp that saltwater, sink beneath the waves. You’re not a boat, you can go under and come up again, with those big old lungs of yours, those hard kicking legs.
And your heart, she said, that gargantuan ark, that floating hotel. Call it Unsinkable, though it is sinkable. Embark, embark.
There are enough ballrooms in you to dance with everyone you’ll ever love.
That’s what the Titanic told me this morning, me, lying next to her on the ocean floor.
There are enough ballrooms in you.”
0 notes
Text
I could be the jacket
You shrug into on
Cold spring mornings
A soft, sweatshirt love
We could watch the sky
Until the stars melt into
A sherbet shaded sunrise
Hip-to-hip, halfway to heaven
Distance would disappear
When we weave like wisteria
A thousand purple petals
Nestled close to me
93 notes
·
View notes
Text
BLACK HONEY DRIPS FROM THE TAP AND I LET IT RUN
the first time i saw a beekeeper i thought [god, what a way to be a thing / what a way to exist with hands full of honey & fear] but the second time i saw a beekeeper i thought [i could love like that too, i could let something sting itself to death just to prove i was worthy of sweetness] and maybe the point is the aftertaste of venom. you take it in sugar cubes, mix it into your tea, let the poison be palatable. // it’s just biology, baby, just the way things are (you say) but i watch the wax build in the corners of your mouth and i think no, no, this is something else, something with wings & ruinous intention. i try to spit the honey out but my teeth are already sinking.
they’ll only die if they love you too much—as if love wasn’t just another kind of death, i’ve spent years dripping with it, sticky with the weight of hands that only ever knew how to take. and my god, haven’t i been good? haven’t i let them sink their little barbs into my skin, again and again and again, willing to be stung if it means i get to be kept? take it, take all of it. i am the softest vessel.someone once said bees remember faces, that they can hold a grudge for generations. i imagine them circling back, drawn to the same open mouth, the same hands outstretched, the same invitation to ruin. come back to me, my loves, my wicked little creatures // let the swarm take me. let them think i am worthy of keeping.
40 notes
·
View notes
Text
just read “to be loved is to be worth the inconvenience” it blew my mind away
29K notes
·
View notes
Text

He brings me poems and cheese cake
Butterflies and a yearning so sweet
❤️/AB
1 note
·
View note
Text
I fell in love with
the way it doesn’t burn
When you touch me
-doesn’t sear my skin
leave welts or wounds
Doesn’t freeze me in my tracks.
Instead you are a breeze
Brushing the hair from my eyes
and for the first time
I see what stands before me
I once mistook strangers
for the light of the sun
never realizing
how relentless exposure
could blister-
how long it takes to heal
And how some burns
never truly fade
But you—
You held me like
The sight of the moon
soft and steady,
reflecting back
The glow from with in me
I thought I had lost
A whisper carries on that same breeze
“Love you
like I love you.”
We don’t have to burn ourselves up
to keep the night alight.
We are worth more
than smoke and fumes-
Than fire-
And ash.
❤️/AB
#poetry#poem#poets on tumblr#original poem#poems on tumblr#orignal poem#spilled thoughts#poets community#i miss you#female poets
9 notes
·
View notes
Text

Daydreaming again
and in true dream-like fashion
I materialize
suddenly and without arrival
standing at the cliff’s edge
staring down and down
into an indeterminate
And endless depth
The ground beneath kaleidoscopes
shifting in and out of focus
beyond bare feet
blue nail polish
sandstone grit
And crumbled rock—
too weathered to hold on.
I glance around,
behind,
unsure how I got here
again
Certainly no footfall
after footfall
no compass no map
just the ledge
and the fated fall
Then
just when I think I might jump
or slip
or lose myself
to the sweat and sand
sliding beneath my grip—
your hand finds mine
Steady
Certain
You catch me
anchor me
plant my heels on solid ground
You stand beside me
looking down
into breathless
depthless eyes
And surrender.
❤️/AB
#poetry#poem#poets on tumblr#original poem#poems on tumblr#orignal poem#spilled thoughts#poets community#female poets
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
And if this is all I have to give
Then I’ll give it
My body is just another transaction
I use to make you love me
What am I
Except
What I can give to someone else
Love
Sex
The feeling of safety
What is anyone
But what they offer
We are all just vending machines
Hoping to be filled
As
We
Empty
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
I would have crawled in there with you
Had my bones not felt so heavy
My limbs so tired from
Carrying all that weight
of all your gone
I heard my mom sob and-
Turn from the room
At the sight of her
Unslightly daughter
Bent at the waist
Torso draped,
Arms outstretched,
Head slung over you in your funeral suit.
Begging you to come back
You left too soon
Casket edges bite into my hips
Their sharpness holding me back
But I would have
Crawled in
If they’d let me
Maybe
If your arms could have
Pulled me in
And held me too-
Maybe then.
Maybe if I wasn’t worried
About my tears staining your
Perfect
Perfect suit
It should have been me
It could have been me
But it wasn’t-
It was you
❤️/AB
#poetry#poem#poets on tumblr#original poem#poems on tumblr#orignal poem#poets community#i miss you#female poets#spilled thoughts
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
We speak the same language
in a room where silence
falls on deaf ears.
Not because we share the same 26 characters
or because “his love”
is the same as “my love.”
It’s something greater than that.
When my words scramble,
Stirring round the frying pan
of my brain,
he picks out the smallest pieces,
simplifies,
and nods along.
And when one says
that life cannot be reduced
to one experience—
that it is only, simply, wholly
one lasting existence—
I see it:
one piece
against the expanse of the picture.
We are two cities—
close enough to touch,
mirroring each other
in unexpected ways.
From the outside looking in,
it may seem contradictory—
but here,
there are no contradictions,
only truths,
And slight ironies.
I once believed
I could never belong—
But here, in this bed with him,
And over morning coffees—
the joy etched
Into the lines of my face
It cannot be imagined.
Nor the rapture
radiating from within his chest.
There’s only ever one thing
either of us could mean
before it is ever uttered aloud.
❤️/AB
#poetry#poem#poets on tumblr#original poem#poems on tumblr#orignal poem#spilled thoughts#poets community#female poets
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
I romanticized the darkest parts of my life, painted pain into shades of poetry, and turned heartache into something beautiful.
I made my suffering feel softer, more bearable, as if giving it meaning could take away the sting.
But some nights, no amount of pretty words can disguise the darkness.
- Daria Synn
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
At the end of the day we are Poets first. Lovers second. The poetry was here before my breath was, pushing open my veins with golden caresses. You disturb the silence and make me shimmer. But the Poet was here first; and as she gasps for breath, what is a lover but a pen which one day, goes dry. I, of all the Poets & Muses, should know.
—The Hollow Quiet
35 notes
·
View notes