“I Have But One Passion ; It Swallows Up Every Other ; It Dwells With My Darling Books, And Is Fed

Untitled Rambles

I feel sick. Again. Not in control. Again.

Shaken, misplaced, irregular

I have all the words ready to spew out from my faucet,

But they won’t come out, not right now,

And not right. Just jumbled word vomit that smells like grief, aching, and anxiety.

My insides feel all torn up.

All messed up.

Just like my mind.

I’m currently trying to find out if I’m even alive.

This stupid ringing in my ear,

This stupid voice in my head,

This stupid way that I look at him.

Pushing my feelings aside. No longer shoving them down his throat, just my fingers that he loves to suck.

My body that he loves to touch.

My body that is hard for me to touch.

Looking around to see others wanting me but I’m not sure if I even want myself anymore.

Cause he used to want me in a way that made my heart fucking flutter. He used to want me in a way that proclaimed love was real.

I promised to put myself first.

I promised to love myself.

I used to put myself first.

I used to love myself more than I loved anyone else.

I met him and fell down a landslide.

Is it me wanting to get pleasure because it’s so easily accessible, or is it me wanting to get pleasure to erase those feelings, to take me to an out-of-body experience, to just make my brain empty and my body full? I want to be loved, and I want to be cared for. By him. But it’s not possible, not right now, perhaps not ever, just not in the way that I love and care for him. So I’m putting myself first. I will be organized, I will be on time, I will take my medication, I will make my bed and do yoga and see friends. I will have sex for pleasure and to fill that void. I believe that love just isn’t on the menu for me right now. Not right now. I know it will come, I vow it too. But I stop my beckoning. I hold off on the searching and the begging. I’m young. It’s about me.

the art of book covers

“The bottom line is this: You write in order to change the world, knowing perfectly well that you probably can’t, but also knowing that literature is indispensable to the world. The world changes according to the way people see it, and if you alter, even by a millimeter, the way people look at reality, then you can change it…If there is no moral question, there is no reason to write. I’m an old-fashioned writer and, despite the odds, I want to change the world”

— James Baldwin

"fuck you my child is completely fine"

your child reads classic literature for fun

KNITTED 

She had knit you a sweater, 

You wear it every day. 

You’ve had it sixteen years so- 

It’s to no surprise that you'd never throw it away. 

The threads follow you like a trail of shadows, 

It’s thin and damaged

It smells of hard work 

She had knit you a sweater, 

You wear it every day

You say it’s disgusting 

But you never cleaned it anyway. 

She had knit you a sweater, 

You hate it with such pain 

the thing about greta gerwig is shes gonna make a movie about daughters and their mothers and im gonna cry

Heart imagery by Andrea Zantelli

can someone fucking linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. can someone fucking forget their scarf in my life & come back later for it. please

i love you fries i love you hash browns i love you roasted potatoes i love you mashed potatoes i love you potato chips i love you potato pancakes i love you potato croquettes i love you hasselback potatoes i love you tater tots i love you potatoes

BRIGHT 

Greys, blacks, and whites 

In a world full of dull 

You are my light. 

She shines so bright 

Vivid dreams come to life 

She whispers things 

That my heart can’t 

Retain 

She sings things to my brain 

That I just can’t explain 

She makes me breathe 

Pushing the oxygen from 

Her love 

Into my lungs 

She reaches and pulls 

Down the moon and the 

Stars. 

She goes far.