“i Like Every Person I Meet. For Like 17 Days. After That Either They Expect Too Much Or Give Too Little.

all we need is hope, not war 

children of the world pj

by valentini mavrodoglou

I haven’t seen you in a while. Oh, how I miss your smile. Sometimes I start to pick up the phone to dial, but I haven’t seen you in a while. One day our paths my cross again. You’ll see all these roses that have begun to pile. Until then I will hope and pray for you, my love. It’s all I can do. I haven’t seen you in a while.

J.c.A

“Step into my poem, I will be there for your heart, in this gondola of rain and hope.”

—

American sculptor and designer Isamu Noguchi (1904-1988), here at 19 in 1923.

I wanna run away with someone in the middle of the night and go on adventures and see the world and eat at cheap truck stops and sit on top of our car and look at the stars and just be somewhere other than here. 

light

mitski // blanche dubois

BLUE LIGHT // ABBEY // A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE

the hardest thing about poetry

is honesty.

how do i give words to the

interior of my soul

and then put it out for

the entire world to see?

knowing that there are

blurry faces i see everyday 

but don’t really talk to

who will remember my poems

the next time they look at

my face and think-

this is what she feels,

this is what she hides.

so, here is a confession 

as the new year is upon us:

much of what i write isn’t honest,

it isn’t me.

my poetry is not me.

if you want to find me,

if you seek what i hide,

look carefully in the spaces

between the words,

in the pauses and the hyphens.

search for me in the white in between

the black print, 

in all the unexpressed

in the midst of the art.

even at my best,

find me in the silence

bursting between the 

adjacent syllables,

then don’t just look,

hear,

listen to what one word 

whispers to the other,

how they acknowledge the unsaid

by leaving space for it on the screen

to exist

then don’t just hear,

smell,

breathe in the vaguely musky scent

of all the letters that never made it

on to the screen in front of you

because i pressed backspace,

either because they didn’t really 

say what i really wanted to 

or because they said it a little too well.

then when all this is done,

feel it.

understand

that this is why in school

you were taught four different interpretations

for a single line and although

that might exasperate you,

this is why a poem is more than

the sum of the words that

it consists of,

this is the reason why the words

you read on paper and on your screen

will never be where the 

true meaning of the poem lies.

but the truth sits there

squeezed in between all the noise,

patiently waiting,

somehow always the winner

of this game of

literary hide and seek.

but now,

if you want to,

at least you know where to find it.

“There’s so much more to life than finding someone who will want you, or being sad over someone who doesn’t. There’s a lot of wonderful time to be spent discovering yourself without hoping someone will fall in love with you along the way, and it doesn’t need to be painful or empty. You need to fill yourself up with love. Not anyone else. Become a whole being on your own. Go on adventures, fall asleep in the woods with friends, wander around the city at night, sit in a coffee shop on your own, write on bathroom stalls, leave notes in library books, dress up for yourself, give to others, smile a lot. Do all things with love, but don’t romanticize life like you can’t survive without it. Live for yourself and be happy on your own. It isn’t any less beautiful, I promise.”

— Emery Allen (via wordsnquotes)

By ryancphoto

— an anonymous woman on coming to terms with being a lesbian in the 1950’s-60’s, from an interview with Deborah Goleman Wolf