“I spent my life folded between the pages of books.
In the absence of human relationships I formed bonds with paper characters. I lived love and loss through stories threaded in history; I experienced adolescence by association. My world is one interwoven web of words, stringing limb to limb, bone to sinew, thoughts and images all together. I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through fiction.” - Tahereh Mafi,
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2 years ago
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3 years ago
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New Impossibly Intricate Embroideries by Chloe Giordano
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3 years ago
You have to really be broken in order to be a poet. It’s a very bad thing to tell a young person, but it’s true. Poetry comes out of all the places where you break.
Alice Notley, from an interview conducted c. October 2015 (via violentwavesofemotion)
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4 years ago
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It’s neither red nor sweet. It doesn’t melt or turn over, break or harden, so it can’t feel pain, yearning, regret.
It doesn’t have a tip to spin on, it isn’t even shapely— just a thick clutch of muscle, lopsided, mute. Still, I feel it inside its cage sounding a dull tattoo: I want, I want—
but I can’t open it: there’s no key. I can’t wear it on my sleeve, or tell you from the bottom of it how I feel. Here, it’s all yours, now— but you’ll have to take me, too.
Heart to Heart, Rita Dove
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4 years ago
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#santeria #travel #latina #bosslady
4 years ago
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The best part is when we’re tired of it all in the same degree,
a fatigue we imagine to be temporary, and we lie near each other, toes touching.
What’s done is done, we don’t say, to begin our transaction,
each letting go of something without really bringing it to mind
until we’re lighter, sicker, older
and a current runs between us where our toes touch.
