In The Silence

They say snobbery is a form of despair. So, I know you looked down on us because you saw frowns come up. And levees were an occasion that you rose to. And our pain drove you to relate. You opened your mouth to release. We opened ours to scream, because we couldn’t escape.

Revolution
is not pretty

but I don’t care
about looks.
Set the dumpster

on fire. Break
the windows.
Don’t kiss me

like they do
in the movies.
Kiss me

like they do
on the emergency
broadcast system.

Daphne Gottlieb (via kdecember)

You remember too much,

my mother said to me recently.

Why hold onto all that?

And I said,

Where do I put it down?

Anne Carson, from “The Glass Essay” (via vrban)
vacants:

(by cody rocko)
Why didn’t I learn to treat everything like it was the last time. My greatest regret was how much I believed in the future.
Jonathan Safran Foer (via observando)
At the temple there is a poem called “Loss” carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it.
Arthur Golden (via observando)

awritersruminations:

To walk through graves and
more graves that will respond
quietly with their silence
there is nothing like a death
that won’t go away

—Nathalie Handal, from “Exit Song

Besides, it is not only time
that ages us. Though years
can write upon our skin
            with unseen knives,

some things must be stolen to be lost.
Sean Patrick Mulroy, from “picture of a lover at 19,” Nailed (April 9, 2013)

metaphorformetaphor:

I carry deserts in my chest; the hot sand of silence.

Edmond Jabès, The Book of Questions II, trans. Rosmarie Waldrop (Wesleyan, 1991)

awritersruminations:

written by ahuntersheart
First you hear the words
and they are like all other words:

ordinary, breathing out of lips,
moving toward you in a straight line.

Later they shatter
and rearrange themselves. They spell

something else hidden in the muscles
of the face, something the throat wanted to say.
Ruth Stone, from “The Wound” (via ontheedgeofdarkness)
and now you are and i am now and we’re
a mystery which will never happen again …
e. e. cummings, “now all the fingers of this tree(darling)have”, from Xaipe: Seventy-One Poems (via hiddenshores)
Even when I’m dead, I’ll swim through the Earth like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.
Jeffrey McDaniel (via alonesomes)
Don’t call me more than once, you hear me?
When you do, I’ll hear it ring and I’ll let it go.
Don’t forget to leave a message. Breathe
so the static catches onto your lungs and
makes that silvery rasp I love.

Tell the silence you need me. Tell it you’ll be fine
if I don’t need you back. Tell it you remember
the way I smoked like everyone was watching,
like every kiss was the one before quitting.
Tell it you miss me. Tell it you’re not lying.
Stop when the beep sounds.
Ramna Safeer, Instructions For Him (via larmoyante)
'What’s the difference?' I asked him. 'Between the love of your life, and your soulmate?'
‘One is a choice, and one is not.’
Tarryn Fisher, Mud Vein (via larmoyante)