Anonymity vs. Evil

I wear spectacles, have ulcer, and wear skirts whenever I can, which is almost always.

"because this is what you do. get up.
blame the liquor for the heaviness. call in late
to work. go to the couch because the bed
is too empty. watch people scream about love
on Jerry Springer. count the ways
it could be worse. it could be last week
when the missing got so big
you wrote him a letter
and sent it. it could be yesterday, no work
to go to, whole day looming.
it could be last month
or the month before, when you still
thought maybe. still carried plans
around with you like talismans.
you could have kissed him last night.
could have gone home with him, given in,
cried after, softly, face to the wall, his heavy arm
around you, hand on your stomach, rubbing.
shower. remember your body. water
hotter than you can stand. sit
on the shower floor. the word
devastated ringing the tub. buildings
collapsed into themselves. ribs
caving toward the spine. recite
the strongest poem you know. a spell
against the lonely that gets you
in crowds and on three hours’ sleep.
wonder where the gods are now.
get up. because death is not
an alternative. because this is what you do.
air like soup, move. door, hallway, room.
pants, socks, shoes. sweater. coat. cold.
wish you were a bird. remember you
are not you, now. you are you
a year from now. how does that
woman walk? she is not sick or sad.
doesn’t even remember today.
has been to Europe. what song
is she humming? now. right now.
that’s it."

Marty McConnell, “Survival Poem #17” (via larmoyante)

I cried reading this.

(via whatthewordsmiss)

(via whatthewordsmiss)

— 10 months ago with 2108 notes

Jean Dujardin and Cécile de France in Möbius

Jean Dujardin and Cécile de France in Möbius

(Source: la-femme-terrible, via handcraftedinvirginia)

— 1 year ago with 176 notes
"I would tell them he is the 12th time
I tried to quit smoking. I would tell them
he is the spark that burns the forest down.
I would tell them he is the forest. I would
tell them he is pulled teeth. I would tell them
he is a barking dog. I would tell them he is
never lonely, which is terrifying. I would tell
them he is late night talk of broken windows.
I would tell them silver is still silver, even
when it is blackened. I would tell them I
have done my research, and love is not a
state of being. It is a house that takes up the
whole world. I would tell them I am everywhere
except apart from him. I would tell them I
am a dog in the yard. I would tell them he
is the choke chain."
— 1 year ago with 1480 notes
"One day the universe will curl up beside you and begin to purr. Don’t worry. You’ll know exactly where to place your hands."
Alysia Harris (via oofpoetry)

(via handcraftedinvirginia)

— 1 year ago with 2984 notes

You will be out with friends
when the news of her existence
will be accidentally spilled all over
your bar stool. Respond calmly
as if it was only a change in weather,
a punch line you saw coming.
After your fourth shot of cheap liquor,
leave the image of him kissing another woman
in the toilet.

In the morning, her name will be
in every headline: car crash, robbery, flood.
When he calls you, ignore the hundreds of ropes
untangling themselves in your stomach.
You are the best friend again. He invites
you over for dinner and you say yes
too easily. Remind yourself this isn’t special,
it’s only dinner, everyone has to eat.
When he greets you at the door, do not think
for one second you are the reason
he wore cologne tonight.

In his kitchen, he will hand-feed you
a piece of red pepper. His laugh
will be low and warm and it will make you
feel like candlelight. Do not think this is special.
Do not count on your fingers the number
of freckles you could kiss too easily.
Try to think of pilot lights and olive oil,
not everything you have ever loved about him,
or it will suddenly feel boiling and possible
and so close. You will find her bobby pins
laying innocently on his bathroom sink.
Her bobby pins. They look like the wiry legs
of spiders, splinters of her undressing
in his bed. Do not say anything.
Think of stealing them, wearing them
home in your hair. When he hugs you goodbye,
let him kiss you on the forehead.
Settle for target practice.

At home, you will picture her across town
pressing her fingers into his back
like wet cement. You will wonder
if she looks like you, if you are two bedrooms
in the same house. Did he fall for her features
like rearranged furniture? When he kisses her,
does she taste like wet paint?

You will want to call him.
You will go as far as holding the phone
in your hand, imagine telling him
unimaginable things like you are always
ticking inside of me and I dream of you
more often than I don’t.
My body is a dead language
and you pronounce
each word perfectly.

Do not call him.
Fall asleep to the hum of the VCR.
She must make him happy.
She must be
She must be his favorite place in Minneapolis.
You are a souvenir shop, where he goes
to remember how much people miss him
when he is gone.


Sierra DeMulder, Unrequited Love Poem (via exoticwild)

"you are always ticking inside of me”


(via whatthewordsmiss)

(Source: harold-christ-archive, via whatthewordsmiss)

— 1 year ago with 3725 notes

I think,
I think when it’s all over,
it just comes back and flashes,
you know.

It’s like a kaleidoscope of memories,
which it all comes back,
but he never does.

I think part of me knew the second I saw him
that this would happen.
It’s not really anything he said,
or anything he did.
It was
the feeling that came along with it,
and the crazy thing is,
I don’t ever know if I’m gonna feel that way again.
But I don’t know if I should.

I knew this world moved too fast, and
burned too bright.
But I just thought,
how can the devil be pulling you towards someone
who looks
so much like an angel when he smiles at you?
Maybe he knew that
when he saw me.

I guess I just lost my balance.
I think that
the worst part of it all wasn’t losing him,
it was losing me.

(via sparksfly)

(Source: thescarrynight, via sparksfly)

— 1 year ago with 2490 notes
"I have failed in relationships before. The person that I loved sort of loved some idea of me that was three shades off of who I was and made me feel really lonely… The idea of a perfect person - there is no perfect person for you. You know it’s all about how you come to (accept) them. I keep saying like you know the first honeymoon stage of love is all compulsion and after that it’s choice. And the choice to stay with someone; the choice to love who they really are and not some idea of them - those are important and hard choices to make."
Zoe Kazan on writing Ruby Sparks (via ajabonitawrites)

(Source: ajcadavedo, via pilarpedrosapilar)

— 2 years ago with 496 notes