Go out and do something. It isn’t your room that’s a prison, it’s yourself.

Sylvia Plath


No Soul

Understand me.

I’m not like an ordinary world.
I have my madness,
I live in another dimension
and I do not have time
for things that have no soul.




The Giver

The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It’s the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared.

Lois Lowry // The Giver


No Country For Old Women


I have seen your beauty,
Saw your bleeding parts too.
I love everything yours;
I want you whole now.
I want the ugliness
most of all.

Simone Desso // Once in a while, you fall in love with the faults too

For The Grieving

Beloved, they will tell you
To turn away from sadness,
But I say: you can only move through it.

Just as rivers must be crossed
To reach a different shore -
So should you, beloved;
Take up the splintered paddle. Go.

Grief is strong, and like the river
Cuts men and mountains to the bone.
Grief and water will not tame;
It wears away the stubborn stone.

Let it carry you, beloved,
Let it take you where it may;
And though your journey is a lonely one
You’ve come so far, you must not stay.

Beloved, they will tell you
To veil the wounds and what you feel,
Not to look upon or touch;
That ugliness must be concealed,

But the lighted world, and joy,
loses depth without its shadows;
For water cuts, but also heals;
Runs deep, and white, but leads to shallows.


To Recede

The Wave of Love

my dear,
we are all made of water.
it’s okay to rage. sometimes
it’s okay to rest. to recede.

// Sanober Khan

Thick Skins & Cheekbones

Millions of people
have decided not to be sensitive.
They have grown thick skins
around themselves
just to avoid being hurt by anybody.
But it is at great cost.
Nobody can hurt them,
but nobody can make them
happy either.


La Infelicidad Correcta

There is, after all, a kind of happiness in unhappiness, if it’s the right unhappiness.

Jonathan Franzen // Freedom


Bukowski is my spirit animal

One Day, Wake Up


Eye contact, slight waves.
Small talk, playful banter.
First date, deeper conversations.
Laughter heard, smiles seen.
More dates, more shared.
Secrets divulged, dreams revealed.
Inside jokes, stolen kisses.
Wounded cries, painful struggles.
Open arms, life support.
Comfortable silence, starry nights.
Loving embraces, warm peace.

One day, wake up.

Uneasy feelings, disturbing quiet.
Hopelessly lost, pulling away.
Unrevealed moments, multiplying lies.
Emotionally numb, growing apart.
False accusations, pointless fights.
Jealousy heightens, piercing screams.
Sleep deprived, tears dried.
Angrily drained, unhappily exhausted.
Final straw, boxes packed.
Last words, turn around.
Part ways, eyes down.


Isa Ampersand


Beauty is nothing, beauty won’t stay. You don’t know how lucky you are to be ugly, because if people like you, you know it’s for something else.

Charles Bukowski


Throne // Thorns

So I was sitting in my cubicle today, and I realized, ever since I started working, every single day of my life has been worse than the day before it. So that means that every single day that you see me, that's on the worst day of my life.

Two Kinds

There are two kinds of people in this world: those who believe there are two kinds of people in this world and those who are smart enough to know better.

Tom Robbins // Still Life with Woodpecker



But luck will fail
and others will pale
and I’ll think of you.
And I’ll think I tried it
or I will deny it
but it’s not true.

Waxahatchee // Luminary Blake


Your life flashes before your eyes just before you die... it’s called Life.

- “What is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?”
Death thought about it.
- ”CATS, he said eventually. CATS ARE NICE."

Sir Terry Pratchett // 28 April 1948 – 12 March 2015

The sun goes down upon the Ankh,
And slowly, softly fades -
Across the Drum; the Royal Bank;
The River-Gate; the Shades.

A stony circle's closed to elves;
And here, where lines are blurred,
Between the stacks of books on shelves,
A quiet 'Ook' is heard.

A copper steps the city-street
On paths he's often passed;
The final march; the final beat;
The time to rest at last.

He gives his badge a final shine,
And sadly shakes his head -
While Granny lies beneath a sign
That says: 'I aten't dead.'

The Luggage shifts in sleep and dreams;
It's now. The time's at hand.
For where it's always night, it seems,
A timer clears of sand.

And so it is that Death arrives,
When all the time has gone...
But dreams endure, and hope survives,
And Discworld carries on.

Where could I rest but in your hurricane?

Erica Jong // Insomnia & Poetry



Mirrors of Bergman from Criterion Collection on Vimeo.

You Crave Me

I am your morning cigarette.
You crave me,
you need me,
but someday soon you’ll realize
how toxic I am.
Someday soon
you will leave me.

Don’t you worry, darling.
I’ve already stained your lungs black
and I know you’ll feel
the ghost of me
on your fingers
In the mornings
before you fully wake
you’ll crave me
because old habits die hard
and you’ll never quite be able to
kill the desire for me.
When the gentle lips of your wife
bore you,
you will think of my
bitterness that somehow always
tastes sweeter than honey.

That one time you give in
and indulge
she will cry when
she smells me on you,
and never again
will you feel me
on your lips,
but I know you will always
feel me in
the darkness inside you.

Right now
I am your morning cigarette.
Soon I will be
the cancer in your lungs.

I wish I was sorry.


He estado aqui por un tiempo ya


A Restless Ocean Heart

Niles King


Because I was the storm that he couldn’t weather.
Because I was the sea while he never strayed from shore.

We were the joining of the tempest and the calm.

The worst part not us colliding but that I, absorbed by him lost my vastness.

He never loved me and I-

I should’ve known better.


Unwise Love

It had flaws, but what does that matter when it comes to matters of the heart? We love what we love. Reason does not enter into it. In many ways, unwise love is the truest love. Anyone can love a thing because. That’s as easy as putting a penny in your pocket. But to love something despite. To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect.

Patrick Rothfuss // The Wise Man’s Fear


Bailo otra vez borracho,
desaprobando la dictadura del orgasmo,
soy el monstruo idiota que saliva delante de la carne,
y me encuentro de nuevo con este amuleto obscuro,
que despierta mis antiguas soledades,
la serie es triste,
amores fríos,
delicadezas manipuladoras,
prefiero abrazar el caos,
oler sexos descerebrados,
besar cuerpos ensangrentados,
por que dentro de estos cuerpos
todo es eterno mi amor.


In This Kind of Hope

…I love you, you of your feelings, you of your belief. You are the reason I wrote the poems. I didn’t even know you were there — but you were. "There ought to be something for someone in this kind of hope" I wrote…but I wasn’t sure. Now I am sure.

Anne Sexton // A Self-Portrait In Letters