You are strong. Your feelings are valid. Your memory is trustworthy. If you feel hurt, you have been hurt. If you feel angry, someone has upset you. Your lived experiences are your own – and you have every right to feel through them and to react to things that have done you harm. You are …
Tag Archives: poetic
mingdliu: He sent a bouquet of my favourite flowers to my office last week. How did I get so lucky?
I feel restless, spirited, adventurous. To be absolutely truthful, I hope to go on living as I am living, sensually. I have erotic imaginings. I do not want solitude, introspection, work. I want pleasure. Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry featured in Henry and June: From “A Journal of Love” -The Unexpurgated Diary of Anais …
You’re the heartbeat of my poetry. I don’t care if you break me as long as you keep the pieces and promise to listen to the wind comb forever through your hair I’ve lost track of how many wishes I’ve made for you, sometimes I look up at the night sky just to see if …
I’m a hugely but quietly disobedient person. I read all the time, it’s a large part of what I do existing, and I don’t do it with the goal of finishing a book. I’m always reading everything. Alice Notley, from an interview taken by Adam Plunkett c. March 2016
If you can sincerely smile to differences you meet along in this journey, you will understand that everything has its own way, everyone has their own way. It takes humility and courage to just let them be, and it takes self-love to stay in peace among differences. rezarusandi (via wnq-writers)
December. I am gold. Like the moonlight. My lips still taste like the alcohol on your breath the first night we met. They are warm and swollen. Your kiss memorized in my brain. I am floating on a cloud. My heart begins to thaw as your hand touches mine. The snowflakes lace between my hair …
newmoongoddess: stargazing, the smell of earth after it rains, misty mornings by the sea, earl grey tea, lavender, the smell of old books, charcoal drawings, braids, long conversations late at night, quiet afternoons spent listening to music, baking, owls, winter, open windows, getting so absorbed in a book you forget the world exists, snow globes, …
things to become
s0ftmist: a liquid sunset honeycomb angel wings sea silk a river nymph a plush bunny peach nectar a forest faery
In the end, our bones are made out of stardust and our tears all taste the same. // us j.d.m. (via poetryandthesea)