Around Christmas, my mother died.
Around Christmas, I want to write a poem about how my mother died around Christmas.
Around Christmas, I start to write a poem about how my mother died around Christmas.
Around Christmas, I realize I can’t write a poem about my mother dying around Christmas.
Around Christmas, I fucking hate Christmas.
(Source: shesthatgirl.com)
A dusty plot with a paint chipped picnic table:
our one-night home. Sitting on a rock,
I stab hotdogs and marshmellows for charring.
Somehow, this is roughing it.
In the fire pit, flickering red canyons
warm my hands.
None of the five hundred and twenty one photographs
seized this grand moment.
(Source: shesthatgirl.com)
I say I’m a writer,
And this may be true —
But my words have no light,
My dear, without you.Your love breathes verses
Whole into my soul
Sure and swift
as cold wind
in my lungs.And I am alive.
Without you, dear,
I am, I fear —
Just another girl
with a pen,
a scrap of paper,And an untethered dream
That threatens to blow away.
*snort*
(Source: cglionhearted, via gabrielgadfly)
You talk a lot about self-actualization, you self-actualized boy
But step out of your self-portrait, your glow, your shadow and see
Gazing upon the focal point while I admire the frame, the edge
The canvas cramped and busting to explode in a million colors that paint and brush
Is the painting a real person or a painting of a picture of a person?
Enough of the finished product, let me see the raw and muddled idea,
muck around in them
And possibly I will let you see the emotions behind the words
before they neatly form the page
(Source: shesthatgirl.com)
The world is wrong: to love is not to give.
To love is to renounce. Renunciation is freedom.
(Source: shesthatgirl.com)
Topoisomerase, solving
that winding problem of DNA
due to the intertwined nature of its
double helical structure. Text-
books need to be more
jocular. Or perhaps melancholy.
Something so integral to life needs to
be, well, something. But something so small,
so scientific, often gets overlooked. Why
worry about the
building blocks of life
when we can write
about a girl crying in a corner,
marvel at a photograph of mountains
(things we could never miss).
Besides, topoisomerase
isn’t a pretty word.
I asked people to give me words to include in a poem, and I got “topoisomerase,” “melancholy,” and “jocular.” It was really difficult to do. What words should I include in my next poem?
(Source: shesthatgirl.com)
there are things
i cannot hold—a snowflake in summer
scorpions
contrails
my breath
(when i’m running)my ears
(when i’m crawling)a lover’s gaze
across miles of hurtmy children’s hands
when they are oldthese are things
i cannot hold
every conversation is a transaction.
our numbers have been in steady
decline. i examine her figures and
beg her to stimulate my economy.
