October 21, 2014, 6:22 pm
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i just want to be a part of your day.



well said
October 20, 2014, 9:20 pm
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“Once you choose to love, you love. Or rather, once you find no reason not to love, you love. You shouldn’t sell your past loves short as they were your entire world at a previous point in time – a part of your history, a part of you, that you shouldn’t forget.”



When You Are Old -Wlliam Butler Yeats
October 12, 2014, 9:09 pm
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When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Source: The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats (1989)


crybaby
October 12, 2014, 9:05 pm
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wall-tears-blown-glass-sculptures



more andrea gibson. because why not?
September 30, 2014, 11:36 am
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“the key to finding love
is fucking up the pattern on purpose,
is skipping a stitch,
is leaving a tiny, tiny hole to let the cold in
and hoping she mends it with your lips.”



The Bones Below -Sierra Demulder
September 30, 2014, 11:15 am
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At First Sight

When she stops kissing you
with her mouth open,
find the screw driver.

Buy a newly cut shank of beef.
Leave so much blood in the kitchen
she has to ask what happened.

When she no longer calls you baby,
hide all the silverware
between the couch cushions.

Send her there to sleep.
If she does not complain,
let the sinks in the bathroom overflow.

Bake the wedding photos
in the dryer. Stand in
the middle of your flood.

Call her name backwards, forwards.
Wave your arms like your chest is a runway.
She is the plane you are crashing.

When she does not reach
for you, pretend
it is the first time

you’ve met.



no-one’s mother
September 22, 2014, 5:23 pm
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“Once in a while someone used to ask me, ‘Don’t you ever write poems about your children?’ The male poets of my generation did write poems about their children — especially their daughters. For me, poetry was where I lived as no-one’s mother, where I existed as myself.” –Adrienne Rich




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