“If there were a poetry where this could happen
not as blank spaces or as words
stretched like skin over meanings
but as silence falls at the end
of a night through which two people
have talked till dawn” by Adrienne Rich, from “Cartographies of Silence” (via theclassicsreader)

(via lifeinpoetry)

“Love is madness. Doesn’t everyone agree that you’d do anything, endure anything, to be with the ones you love? So either you’re willing to let them use you with any sort of cruelty, so long as they keep you—which makes you a fool—or you’re willing to commit any cruelty, so long as you get to keep them—which makes you a monster. Either way, it’s madness.” by Rosamund Hodge, Gilded Ashes
(via thinwhitedutchesss)

(via lifeinpoetry)

“Your body is as vivid to me
as it ever was: even more
since my feeling for it is clearer:
I know what it could and could not do
it is no longer
the body of a god
or anything with power over my life” by Adrienne Rich, from “From a Survivor” (via theclassicsreader)

(via lifeinpoetry)

“Listen to me, your body is not a temple. Temples can be destroyed and desecrated. Your body is a forest—thick canopies of maple trees and sweet scented wildflowers sprouting in the underwood. You will grow back, over and over, no matter how badly you are devastated.” by Beau Taplin (via oofpoetry)

(via bellelune)

“I kissed every pore on her body with passion and reverence, as if she were a life that would soon disappear.” by Hassan Blasim, from “A Thousand and One Knives,” The Corpse Exhibition: And Other Stories of Iraq
(via lifeinpoetry)

(Quelle: lifeinpoetry, via lifeinpoetry)

“

Wintering in a dark without window
At the heart of the house…

This is the room I have never been in.
This is the room I could never breathe in.

” by Sylvia Plath, from “Wintering,” Ariel (via lifeinpoetry)

(Quelle: lifeinpoetry, via lifeinpoetry)

“Claire opened the drawer and found a pen.” by Rachel Caine, from The Dead Girl’s Dance (via the-final-sentence)

“If you walk long enough, your crowded head clears,
like how all the cattle run off loudly as you approach.
This fence is a good fence, but I doubt my own haywire
will hold up to all this blank sky, so open and explicit.
I’m like a fence, or a cow, or that word, yonder.” by Ada Limón, “During the Impossible Age of Everyone,” from Bright Dead Things  (via mythaelogy)

(via lifeinpoetry)

“All I ask of life is to be left alone and to have the opportunity to devote myself to the few things which continue to interest me, however superficial they may be.” by Wild Strawberries, by Ingmar Bergman
(via dilmfirector)

(via non-volerli-vittime-deactivated)

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