buttonpoetry:

Anna Binkovitz - “Asking For It” (CUPSI 2014)

"Stop asking people’s clothing to have sex with you, and start asking people."

Performing for Macalester College at the 2014 College Unions Poetry Slam Invitational.

(via buttonpoetry)

Wishbone

writingsforwinter:

As most couples do, we split apart, halved and quartered ourselves

into smithereens and mosaics of something

that was less like love, and more like salt.

We were thirsty for it, in the beginning.

Skin on skin, finding our ways into each other

like pit into the peach, like a knife drives home into soft wood,

into unyielding flesh. Used to live knee-deep in each others’ minds.

But a map is just a map and its lines never cease to bring forth

a contour, just as your fingerprints and mine

were never a match for one another, as hard as we tried,

as much as we wanted to be compatible.

It was never a war we both fought, but one we waged separately,

who would sleep on the couch and who would sleep in the bed.

That’s all it was, toward the end.

And then someone wished, and pulled apart the bone,

the wish was granted,

and we ended up alone.

(via writingsforwinter)

the problem poets have is that we really just want to live
inside a poem.

we want our lives to be like the ink on pages, we want
bruises on our kneecaps and kisses on our foreheads
so we can have love and pain in equal measures

and i want to wake up with you making
pancakes in my kitchen, i want
your bags packed and your hands full
with two plane tickets, i want you to say
“i’m coming with you, we’re going on an adventure”
i want you to be as wild and full of romance as i write you

but you’re a human being and today i woke up alone
and after awhile got a text from you asking if i
needed a ride to the airport. there were no flowers
when you came for me, no interfering with the intercom
so you could read me a dumb sonnet you wrote last night
while drunk. there was only the sound of flights taking off
and lovers kissing each other over and over
until it’s kind of awkward
because the goodbye seems to stretch out over forever
and there was no teddy bear no promise ring no big send off
you just promised to call and gave me a hug, see

the problem with being a poet
is that you get all sorts of wrong ideas
about what it means to be
in love
because you can hear music in what sounds like noise
to other people, you crave the kind of flashbang that
your words can create, you romanticize the ugly because it
makes for good writing and you drain the beautiful until
it comes undone, you forget other people need space to breathe,
that you live in the captured moment of too-perfect
impossibility, you forget that he can’t read your mind, that
she doesn’t really like your writing, that they would rather
watch sports than go out tonight, you forget that
most people don’t try to make fireworks out of
everyday life but

eventually, after writing more pages about magic
than kisses you’ve received

you mess up and
actually start to believe.

I am leaving for Europe and all I can think about is how badly I want you to come with me.” /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

I’ve stopped being sorry for all my soft. I won’t apologise because I miss you, or because I said it, or because I text you first, or again. I think everyone spends too much time trying to close themselves off. I don’t want to be cool or indifferent, I want to be honest. If I love you at 5AM, I’d damn well rather that you know I felt it. If I love you two hours later, I’ll tell you then too. Listen, I won’t wait double the time it takes for you to text me back because I don’t want to. I don’t care enough to be patient with you. I’m happy, you made me feel that way, don’t you want to know? So that’s how it’s going to be. I’m going to leave myself as open as a church door. And I’m going to wake you up before the crack of dawn to tell you that I’m fucking joyful, no pretending, not from me, not ever. Would you like some coffee, would you please kiss me? Here, these are my hands, this is my mouth, it is all yours.

Azra.T “Don’t Wait Three Days to Text First.” (via windwrinkle)

(via coastalresidence)

Depression does not always mean
Beautiful girls shattering at the wrists
A glorified, heroic battle for your sanity
Or mothers that never got the chance to say good-bye

Sometimes depression means
Not getting out of bed for three days
Because your feet refuse to believe
That they will not shatter upon impact with the floor

Sometimes depression means
That summoning the willpower
To go downstairs and do the laundry
Is the most impressive thing you accomplish that week

Sometimes depression means
Lying on the floor staring at the ceiling for hours
Because you cannot convince your body
That it is capable of movement

Sometimes depression means
Not being able to write for weeks
Because the only words you have to offer the world
Are trapped and drowning and I swear to God I’m trying

Sometimes depression means
That every single bone in your body aches
But you have to keep going through the motions
Because you are not allowed to call in to work depressed

Sometimes depression means
Ignoring every phone call for an entire month
Because yes, they have the right number
But you’re not the person they’re looking for, not anymore

by “Alexandra” Tilton, NH (Teen Ink: November 2013 Issue)

(via cosmos-reverie)

When I meet you, in that moment, I’m no longer a part of your future. I start quickly becoming part of your past. But in that instant, I get to share your present. And you, you get to share mine. And that is the greatest present of all.

So if you tell me I can do the impossible, I’ll probably laugh at you. I don’t know if I can change the world yet, because I don’t know that much about it — and I don’t know that much about reincarnation either, but if you make me laugh hard enough, sometimes I forget what century I’m in.

This isn’t my first time here. This isn’t my last time here. These aren’t the last words I’ll share.

But just in case, I’m trying my hardest to get it right this time around.

Sarah Kay, “Hiroshima” (via larmoyante)

(via sylphism)

The poet who didn’t feel the pressure at a politically difficult time would be either stupid or insensitive.

[…]

Debate doesn’t really change things. It gets you bogged in deeper. If you can address or reopen the subject with something new, something from a different angle, then there is some hope. … People are suddenly gazing at something else and pausing for a moment. And for the duration of that gaze and pause, they are like reflectors of the totality of their own knowledge and/or ignorance. That’s something poetry can do for you, it can entrance you for a moment above the pool of your own consciousness and your own possibilities.

No writing is wasted. Did you know that sourdough from San Francisco is leavened partly by a bacteria called lactobacillus sanfrancisensis? It is native to the soil there, and does not do well elsewhere. But any kitchen can become an ecosystem. If you bake a lot, your kitchen will become a happy home to wild yeasts, and all your bread will taste better. Even a failed loaf is not wasted. Likewise, cheese makers wash the dairy floor with whey. Tomato gardeners compost with rotten tomatoes. No writing is wasted: the words you can’t put in your book can wash the floor, live in the soil, lurk around in the air. They will make the next words better.

Erin Bow (via writersrelief)

(via takahiroki)

I gave myself permission to care, because there are a lot of people in this world who are afraid of caring, or afraid of showing that they care because it’s uncool. It’s uncool to have passion. It’s so much easier to lose when you’ve shown everyone how much you don’t care if you win or lose. It’s much harder to lose when you show that you care, but, you’ll never win, unless you also stand to lose. Don’t be afraid of your passion.

Tom hiddleston (via johnlockedmyhiddlesbatch)

(via psychedelicheroine)