circussoul reblogged
Gillian Flynn, from Sharp Objects
circussoul reblogged
““I am supposed to be touched. I can’t wait to find the person who will come into the kitchen just to smell my neck and get behind me and hug me and breathe me in and make me turn around and make me kiss his face and put my hands in his hair even with my soapy dishwater drips. I am a lovely woman. Who will come into my kitchen and be hungry for me?””
— Jenny Slate, Little Weirds
circussoul reblogged
Margarita Karapanou, tr. by Karen Emmerich, Rien ne va plus
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Erika L. Sánchez, from “La Cueva”, Lessons on Expulsion
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“Life has been so discouraging that I have forgotten why and how to fantasize, and I feel weak.”
— Little Weirds, by Jenny Slate
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memoryslandscape
“I think I am a better ghost than I am a human being.”
— Ingmar Bergman, from the film Ansiktet ( Svensk Filmindustri, 1958)
circussoul reblogged
Source: wedarkacademia
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I remember my childhood as a long wish to be elsewhere.
Louise Glück, from “Unpainted Door” in Poems 1962-2012
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“I’ve been trying to go home my whole life-”
— Chelsea Dingman; Psychogeography
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chaandajaan-moved
But the thing I will never admit to anyone who's met me is how desperately I want to be loved, I don't think I could say it. How I want someone to hold my wrists and kiss my palms and smile at me, and want me, I want to be wanted and I don't know how long poetry or songs will substitute for being wanted.
circussoul reblogged
circussoul reblogged
“Mother says there are locked rooms inside all women; kitchen of lust, / bedroom of grief, bathroom of apathy. / Sometimes, the men – they come with keys, / and sometimes, the men – they come with hammers.”
—
Warsan Shire,
from “The House,”
(via lifeinpoetry)
circussoul reblogged
This is the house that built me
and I’m gonna burn it down.
This is the river I crawled from
and I refuse to drown here.
And bless the strippers
but fuck the men.
And bless the berries
but fuck the farm.
And bless the daughter
but fuck the family.
What is a home
if not the first place you learn to run from?
You’ve got to bite the hand
that starves you, and in doing so
Praise the place that birthed you.
Birthed you fucked up.
Birthed you ugly, and interesting,
and ready to scream.
circussoul reblogged
““My physical heart feels so exposed, so shallowly planted. It feels like it is in my mouth. I can’t tell if I’m spitting it out or swallowing it. I can’t tell if I’m going to chomp it to bits just by trying to be here. ””
— Jenny Slate, Little Weirds
circussoul reblogged
I had two longings and one was fighting the other. I wanted to be loved and I wanted to be always alone.
Jean Rhys, Wide Sargasso Sea (via the-book-diaries)
Source: the-book-diaries
circussoul reblogged
Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments