you are what you love, not who loves you

When I was sixteen I read The Great Gatsby, and oh -
Oh! I said, how it flows, how does this gorgeous iambic pentameter
work its way through the valves of my arteries?
‘Within and without’ runs in my blood. Everything
sounds like money to me.
I wandered lonely as a cloud, only, no, old sport, I don’t wander,
I plan. I lift weights like Benjamin Franklin. I gaze
out, out, out,
I am the poet. I am the huntsman. I lie in wait. I have for years.

Sometimes I forget about The Bell Jar, but I remember The Iron Giant.
Let me tell you, I’ve watched that movie every year of my life since I was seven years old, and I fell in love with the robot
from a children’s story book to the big screen.
I have since studied Metamorphoses and watched the hawk fly through the rain, but choking to death on my own breath?
A touchy subject.

What does F. Scott Fitzgerald have to say for himself
when his wife’s journals lay strewn across his back catalogue?
Where was Ted Hughes when Sylvia Plath collapsed in the kitchen?
Boasting about his own work, or belittling hers?

In 2008 The Times ranked Hughes fourth on their list of ‘The 50 greatest British writers since 1945’.
Where is Sylvia Plath? Where is Zelda Fitzgerald?
Where are the women? Where are the gentle hands, the voices that clink like coins, where are the dangerous curves,
where is the soaring fire of our generation?

Show me your nails, filed to claws. Give me your
ragged hearts, give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
give me your words.
I want to hear your voices, louder and more insistent than ever before.
I want The Times to write a new list.
I need to hear the murmurs of agreement of every lecturer
in the Arts and Humanities department of each university
as they turn it over in their hands.
To see a split between every gender
so even that no one remembers where the line is,
where the line ever was.

This wave’s classic writers are gone,
so bare your teeth and show me your fighting stance.

we are still behind the yellow wallpaper | ishani jasmin (via ishanijasmin)


okay seriously if you’re in a relationship or even a friendship and you find yourself spending more time crying out of sadness or arguing with them, leave them. i don’t care if they’re a modern day aphrodite/adonis or a gift bestowed upon you by the gods. toxic people are dangerous and i highly advise cutting them out of your life and finding someone who makes you laugh until you snort your drink out your nose instead.

(via oops-hi-green-blue)

It’s weird when you grow up in one place for a long time, and then you leave and feel out of place, but then you come back to visit and suddenly you realize that you don’t fit there either because your new home changed you too much. So now you’re a fucking vagabond that doesn’t belong anywhere trying to find peace in some human contact.

I might think I can’t take it any more, that I can’t go on any more, but one way or another I get past that.

—Haruki Murakami, After Dark (via larmoyante)

(via hellaratchetdoodoomomma)

Life Blood

Flipping through the DVDs
Each of which contain a memory
I try to grasp the story lines, the characters
Heroes and bad guys
But only the feeling rushes over my skin, a velvet blanket
Only the moment is secured, contained
Like that time, a friend on the couch became more
When our hands, upon chests, the cases that contain us, our aliveness
I felt you heart beating, like the life blood that proved both of our existences
A passing intimacy, from which I quickly turned away
Eyes locked, and I plunged in, to kiss, to let my lids drop like lead, so as not to look anymore
To feel much too close without touching, and to be relieved with the passion
That lust so often confused with love, but not for me
I turn to it gracefully, as there is no other way
To truly lay open on the table, to be raw and bare
No, I will kiss rather than look, I will fuck rather than hold
I have been running as far back as I remember
To what is not lasting
A feeble attempt to protect an inner strength
That is not there

If at first you don’t succeed, destroy all evidence that you tried.

—― Steven Wright (via psych-quotes)

Judge your success by what you had to give up in order to get it.

—― Dalai Lama XIV (via psych-quotes)

Ignoring your passion is slow suicide. Never ignore what your heart pumps for. Mold your career around your lifestyle not your lifestyle around your career.

—Unknown (via mofobian)

(Source: beyondfabric, via heavyheartedmermaid)


Girls are like flowers -
the prettiest recognized at their
youngest, picked to satisfy
selfish desires.

What a curse it is to be a flower,
to be chosen for beauty
only to die in the hands of an admirer
before she may fully bloom.

- Pavana पवन