"Here is the handful
of shadow I have brought back to you:
this decay, this hope, this mouthful
of dirt, this poetry."
- Margaret Atwood, “Mushrooms,” from Notes Towards a Poem That Can Never Be Written 

(Source: lifeinpoetry, via 11thcloud)

"He was pointing at the moon, but I was looking at his hand."
- Richard Siken, Anyway 

(Source: raspberrymilk)

"I have a strange feeling with regard to you. As if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string in you. And if you were to leave I’m afraid that cord of communion would snap. And I have a notion that I’d take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you’d forget me."
- Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre 

(Source: pureblyss, via splitterherzen)

"Here and now, I have only these hands,
this mouth, this skin as wide as a shoreline,
this beehive between my ears, this buzz, this buzz.
You are the best thing I never planned.
This is the widest I can stretch my arms without
dropping things. This is the first time I don’t care
if I drop things. This is what dropping
things feels like. This is what happens when
the flowers wake up one morning and decide to
smell human: it confuses us, makes us
reach backwards into places that are sharp,
feel around for things we’ve dropped. I have
forgotten what I was looking for. It doesn’t
seem important. You brought me flowers.
You made the bed. This is the widest I can
stretch my arms. This is all I have right now."
- Sarah Kay, “Here and Now” 

(Source: pniepple, via contramonte)

"My love, take these walls, these wars.
Dull my blades. I am tired of the hunt.

I’ve laid my only words at your feet. Open for me.
I want to know, be known. Want and be wanted."
- Jeanann Verlee, from “Your Mouth Is a Church, I Forgot How to Pray,” Nailed (July 21, 2014)

(Source: a-pair-of-ragged-claws, via contramonte)

"this is what it looks like when we press our bodies
against each other—
sometimes it looks like a christening.
most times, we’re both so red it looks like a vigil.
kissing and killing only have a two letter difference—
we learned that in school. but we haven’t read a lick
of fiction in a while.
we’ve become so poor sighted that both
words are basically the same thing.
maybe this is what a hero looks like
or what it’s supposed to look like.
nobody warns you about how much shame there’ll be
when you love somebody.
in the bathroom, love looks an awful lot like a split lip.
but when i tell him this—even when i tell myself this,
we can’t face it—so we blame it on the lighting."
- Salma Deera, What It Looks Like (via writingwillows)

(via contramonte)