good bones by maggie smith saturday . give it up for good bones by maggie smith saturday

I will be coming back to this concept. We're not done here

at the start of every month everyone reblogs some insane poetry that’s like “august has arrived and again I swallow my bones in the burning sun” and every time I’m like damn that makes no sense. but kind of true.

Dave Malloy Musicals + Recovery

The Forest | Prayer | Epilogue | The Field

has anyone seen my sharp rock? i left it in the river for 100 years for safe keeping and now i can't find it. its many uneven edges have sentimental significance

oh and that gap in my resume is when i was digging my own grave

the dirt under my nails is - yeah. it won't wash out. although that's actually from when i dug myself out again. i suppose success and defeat can look the same in a mirror.

Wild Geese

by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -- over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

take the 2024 dostoyevsky-official challenge: every month, learn one poem by heart. it could be in any language, it could be poetry you already know, it could be poetry you're reading for the first time, it could be a sonnet, it could be a ballad: go wild (but for this, i recommend choosing canonical poetry in your chosen language, not poetry in translation, nor something new). above all, poetry, language charged with meaning to the ultimate degree, is meant to be read aloud, to be felt with the tongue. by the end of the year, you'll have a better intuitive understanding of the poet's craft, of the possibility and beauty of language, an improved reading style, and, through the memorization process, a deep knowledge of each chosen poem—and you'll have committed 12 poems to heart, sitting around for any occasion, keeping you company wherever you go

this is the saddest fucking thing. wheres that post about when you cant even write a poem about it because its just there already

I THINK I AM GOING TO CUT MY HAIR

[writes about Jesus but it’s actually about being trans] [writes about being trans but it’s actually about Jesus]

i ended up liking how gendered french is solely because i can say that i want people to use he/him pronouns for me the same way they use it for angels, blood and blunts

i asked a trans friend to give me her fem version of this and she said that people should use she/her with her the same way they use it for the sea, flesh and stuffed toys

I don’t speak French but I speak Spanish and I’m nonbinary so the whole gendered language thing is… difficult. I couldn’t get this post out of my head and so I wrote a poem. It's a first draft but i just had to get it out there

It’s called “Masculino como el amor, femenino como la espada”

Translation: Masculine like love, feminine like the sword

no one speak to me this poem cut me open

alsdkfjalsdkj thaaaaanks! I made a few typos but i'm fairly proud of it hehe

#jesus.#orpheus and eurydice#as a poem#using a poll#this is probably the greatest exploitation of mediums i have ever seen op#every reader has the chance to become part of the text by voting#not the subtext#the TEXT#and i love me some ephemeral works in concept#you had to be here for this one week#and then the text is locked#(barring any edits to the original post of course)#and i just think that's so beautiful#beauty springs from the simplest things viewed askew#and all you need is a poll that accepts long enough strings (via couchcrusader)

Joy Harjo, from “Break My Heart”, An American Sunrise: Poems

burning food is an inherited trait