Things From Sappho To Call Your Girlfriend

Design

by Robert Frost

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, On a white heal-all, holding up a moth Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth -- Assorted characters of death and blight Mixed ready to begin the morning right, Like the ingredients of a witches' broth -- A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth, And dead wings carried like a paper kite.

What had that flower to do with being white, The wayside blue and innocent heal-all? What brought the kindred spider to that height, Then steered the white moth thither in the night? What but design of darkness to appall? -- If design govern in a thing so small.

The people I love are the workers of my heart. They rebuild a heart they did not break from a house of ashes to a skyscraper ruling over the whole world.

- The Short Poem Series by Royla Paula Rădița Asghar

The Galena Evening Times, Kansas, January 18, 1900

You don’t like the way your hair sits? Take mine, I will shear it off without a second thought.

Take my eyes so you may see through them just how beautiful you are.

Take my lungs, that you should never gasp for air.

You’re not comfortable in your skin? Take mine, I will strip it from my body just to see you smile.

My heart is already yours, it has been beating to the sound of your name ever since I first heard it uttered. Take it, it is more yours than it ever was mine.

Take my muscles. May they make you strong enough to never need another.

I will give and give of myself until I am nothing but a meager pile of brittle and broken bones.

Take them. May they be of more use to you than I ever could have been.

Natalie Wee, Least of all

Crawling out of the swamps where you buried me like the setting sun and the moon rises an enemy.

Carolina Outcrop. Never Trust a Woman Who Writes.

Just because I worked there does not mean I am not sick

I should be institutionalized, but I know all of their tricks

(I know I’m slipping further into mental illness to an alarming degree but I’m too traumatized from working in a psychiatric hospital to seek more intensive help than my weekly therapy and nightly Lexapro. I saw how my patients were treated and I quit because of it. Becoming one of them is a terrifying prospect)

I imagine spring arrives black dress, thigh boots, satin glove begrudging and disinterested for 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒𝓅𝒽𝑜𝓃𝑒 has left her love. I imagine she's kept her habits from the dark depths of hell blowing smoke in the face of daffodil and bluebell. The world opens up with sweetness and glee and she rolls her eyes muttering "yeah... It's me."

— Carolina Outcrop

Roman Widow - Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1874 (details)