[Enter the LESBIANS]

All of the true things I am about to tell you are shameless lies

13,082 notes

"Persephone Lied"

for-the-other-shoe:

The truth is, I was bored. 
My mother blissing ahead of me, rosebuds rising in her footsteps,
And I skulking behind, thinking,
Oh look. She walks in beauty.
Again.

Her power could boil rivers, if she chose.
She doesn’t choose. She scatters
Heliotrope behind her.

And me, I’ve no powers. I think she’d like
A decorative daughter. A link to the humans
She feeds with her scattered wheat.
A daughter wed to a swineherd’s just the thing
To show that Demeter’s a down-to-earth
Kind of goddess.

Do you know what swineherds talk about?
Swine.
Diseases of, ways to cook;
“That ‘un’s got no milk for ‘er shoats;
Him, there, he’s got boggy trotters.”

And when he leaned in, smiling,
While we sat in a bower sagged with Mother’s honeysuckle,
When he said, “Now,
My herd’s growing and I’m thinking I could feed a wife—”
That’s when I snapped, I howled, I ran.

And when a hole opened up, a beautiful black, in all the pastels of my mother’s sowing.
Let me fix the lie: Nobody grabbed, nobody pulled.
I jumped.

I thought it was a tiny earthquake, 
Thought I was killing myself,
Starting a long journey to Hades.
It was a more direct trip
Than I’d imagined—
I landed in his lap.

He just looked at me, said “Well,”
And kept driving his chariot down,
Flicked his leather reins near my face.
He did not give me flowers.
He never spoke of pigs.

Didn’t speak much at all. Just took me down in darkness
And did dark things.
I liked them.

I stumbled through his grey gardens, after,
Sore and smiling.
And the gardener said, “Little girl,
Little sunlit flower,
You belong in the world above.
Trust that they’ll come for you,
But while you wait
Don’t eat the food of the dead, for it will trap you here.”
And I said give me the fucking fruit.

But when I ate I could hear her howling,
See her spreading winter on the world.
My poor mother, who missed me after all;
My poor swineherd, starving.
Huddled up for warmth with the few he hadn’t eaten.

I spat out half the seeds.

So now I suffer through the summers,
Smile at the swineherd who tells me
Which shoat is off its feed.
Smile at my mother and walk behind her.
My powers have come to me now, and in her candy-colored wake I scatter
Sundew and flytrap, nettles and belladonna.

I smile and wait for November,
For when I come back to you.
Your clever cold hands and your hard black boots.
I don’t ask what the leather is made from.
I don’t think I want to know. 

And I said give me the fucking fruit.

Holy shit. I love this so much, I love this poem so much. 

I smile and wait for November,

omfg <3

(Source: spuffyduds.livejournal.com)

73 notes

The nutritionist said I should eat root vegetables
Said if I could get down 13 turnips a day
I would be grounded,
rooted.
Said my head would not keep flying away to where the darkness is.

The psychic told me my heart carries too much weight
Said for 20 dollars she’d tell me what to do
I handed her the twenty,
she said “stop worrying darling, you will find a good man soon.”

The first psychotherapist said I should spend 3 hours a day sitting in a dark closet with my eyes closed, with my ears plugged
I tried once but couldn’t stop thinking about how gay it was to be sitting in the closet

The yogi told me to stretch everything but truth,
said focus on the outbreaths,
everyone finds happiness when they can care more about what they can give than what they get

The pharmacist said klonopin, lamictil, lithium, Xanax
The doctor said an antipsychotic might help me forget what the trauma said
The trauma said don’t write this poem
Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones

My bones said “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.”
My bones said “write the poem.”

The lamplight.
Considering the river bed.
To the chandelier of your fate hanging by a thread.
To everyday you could not get out of bed.
To the bulls eye on your wrist
To anyone who has ever wanted to die.
I have been told, sometimes, the most healing thing to do-
Is remind ourselves over and over and over
Other people feel this too

The tomorrow that has come and gone
And it has not gotten better
When you are half finished writing that letter to your mother that says “I swear to God I tried”
But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back
There is no bruise like the bruise of loneliness kicks into your spine

So let me tell you I know there are days it looks like the whole world is dancing in the streets when you break down like the doors of the looted buildings
You are not alone and wondering who will be convicted of the crime of insisting you keep loading your grief into the chamber of your shame
You are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy

I have never met a heavy heart that wasn’t a phone booth with a red cape inside
Some people will never understand the kind of superpower it takes for some people to just walk outside
Some days I know my smile looks like the gutter of a falling house
But my hands are always holding tight to the ripchord of believing
A life can be rich like the soil
Can make food of decay
Can turn wound into highway
Pick me up in a truck with that bumper sticker that says
“it is no measure of good health to be well adjusted to a sick society”

I have never trusted anyone with the pulled back bow of my spine the way I trusted ones who come undone at the throat
Screaming for their pulses to find the fight to pound
Four nights before Tyler Clementi jumped from the George Washington bridge I was sitting in a hotel room in my own town
Calculating exactly what I had to swallow to keep a bottle of sleeping pills down

What I know about living is the pain is never just ours
Every time I hurt I know the wound is an echo
So I keep a listening to the moment the grief becomes a window
When I can see what I couldn’t see before,
through the glass of my most battered dream, I watched a dandelion lose its mind in the wind
and when it did, it scattered a thousand seeds.

So the next time I tell you how easily I come out of my skin, don’t try to put me back in
just say here we are together at the window aching for it to all get better
but knowing as bad as it hurts our hearts, made of only just skin, knowing there is a chance the worst day might still be coming
let me say right now for the record, I’m still gonna be here
asking this world to dance, even if it keeps stepping on my holy feet

you- you stay here with me, okay?
You stay here with me.
Raising your bright against the bitter dark
Your bright longing
Your brilliant fists of loss
if the only thing we have to gain in staying is each other,
my god that’s plenty
my god that’s enough
my god that is so so much for the light to give
each of us at each other’s backs whispering over and over and over
“Live”
“Live”
“Live”

The Nutritionist, Andrea Gibson (via cloudyskiesandcatharsis)

(via brandnewannie)

292 notes

A Hundred Things I Needed To Hear

ashleywyldepoetry:

Most people… are idiots. Most people, when asked, will agree that most people are idiots. Most people think that the world is largely populated by the inept, and it is, but most people think they are not most people. Most people think that they are not idiots.

I am an idiot. I spend money I don’t have, knowingly go on wild goose chases, run from things that are good for me and give up when it’s hard. My fuse is much too short and my list of excuses is far too long but I am always learning and I have learned that we can all be always learning. I have learned that we must teach each other. So I stand here humbly, not to preach and not to presume, but to ask you to afford me the gift of your open mind. I want to paint you the picture of the experience of my life, on the off chance that something I have seen will translate into something you needed to hear, and when I am done, I too will lend my ear, because I aim to always be a student of the earth.

I have learned that your intuition is both a friend and an enemy, but loves your body with the all grace of a mother. It desperately wants you and your body to love each other. I have learned that the universe is it’s own being, it talks in the currency of love, and it always pays unrealistic returns on investment. The world is a more peaceful place if we spend our days talking about what is beautiful, and not about what is unfair, and there is always beauty to be found, somewhere. I’ve learned that all anyone needs is a person who’ll listen, that plenty of sleep eliminates the need for coffee, and that a problem is also a solution.

I’ve learned that our smiles are not contracts, and a tear is not a breach. You must feel whatever you feel, whenever you feel it, always say thank you, and never apologize when you meant it. I have learned that we must always read, and never stop writing.
If you think you cannot write, then paint.
If you think you cannot paint, then sing.
If you think you cannot do any of those things… then you are being much too hard on yourself.
Eat the things that make you feel good, do the things that give you passion, share your passion with your children, and with all children, and with strangers, if they’ll hear it. Take time to clean your mind as often as often as you clean your body.

Remember that this moment is a new moment, and it does not carry the weight of the past. Nothing exists but now. Love yourself, love each other, give willingly, and never accept more than you can return. These are all the things I have learned.

Maybe you didn’t need to hear any of this, but I have already learned again just from sharing it, and now I will close my mouth, and open my ears, and I hope you will teach me a hundred more things I need to hear.

July 7th, 2013.

(Source: everydaygay, via thegeekmonkey)

8,486 notes

jebiwonkenobi:

It seems like the first rule of magic, or at least the first limitation mentioned, is usually ‘you can’t bring back the dead.’

And I know it makes sense from a writing standpoint, but I also wonder if it comes from somewhere else. If that’s just the first, most common human response to hearing that magic is possible.

Maybe the first question was, ‘Are the dead still going to stay dead?’ for so long that people stopped needing to say it, that it just got answered right away. Yes, the world will still hurt. Chin up, you can make fire from your fingertips. Maybe you can hurt it back.

(via lowtideandhightea)

44,254 notes

Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water. And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes you cannot even breathe deeply, and the night sky is no home, and you have cried yourself to sleep enough times that you are down to your last two percent, but nothing is infinite, not even loss. You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day you are going to find yourself again.

Finn Butler 

(via winterkristall)

(Source: oofpoetry, via natasi)