help why is everyone reblogging my stuff all of a sudden

𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝙱𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚊𝚔𝚘𝚟, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚊 (𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟾-𝟷𝟿𝟺𝟶)

Anne Sexton, from A Self-Portrait In Letters

‘From a swamp, evil, viscous,’ Osip Mandelstam (translated by A. S. Kline)

発達障害過集中と探し物。二日続けて四つ葉のクローバーを探しに行きました

By candlelight it’s sweet to dream of unprecedented Liberty. In the night, weeping, Loyalty: cries: ‘Once more, stay with me. I’ll merely place a crown on your head, that’s all, so, loving, you may bow to Liberty, as to Law…’ ‘I’m wedded to Liberty, as to Law, that’s why I never shall remove this crown, so light.’ Though we’re lost, in space, doomed to die, should we regret our act of faith, our lovely constancy?

Osip Mandelstam, ‘By candlelight it’s sweet to dream’ (translated by A. S. Kline)

“All of a sudden two decades have passed and you still have not kissed anyone with tongue, or kissed anyone at all for that matter, or had a 3 AM conversation with someone who would rather look into your eyes for ten minutes straight than talk. You have never worn a lover’s sweater or “forgotten” it at home in your bedroom just so you would have an excuse to see them again. You have never even stood face-to-face with someone who makes your hands shake so hard it feels like they’re both having a separate anxiety attack. This causes you much guilt and self-blame and sadness but above all, an overwhelming curiosity. Are you really that ugly, that unwanted, that uninteresting, that boring, that no one, absolutely no one, has ever looked at you like the only thing on earth? The answer is no. The better answer is that someone out there, somewhere in the world, is “wondering what it’s like to meet someone like you,” and they have two decades worth of love stored in their veins like a shoot-‘em-up drug, and they’re just about ready to inject it into someone else’s bloodstream. All you have to do is roll up your sleeves and wait for it to happen. At times you felt so lonely you could stand at the edge of a cliff with nothing beneath you but air and grass and a long, long way down, and you’d still feel emptier than that canyon itself. Maybe you even danced with yourself alone in your room a few times, arms outstretched around a ghost, pretending someone else’s hands were on your waist, someone else’s eyes boring into yours. Or maybe you fell temporarily in love with strangers on public transportation, fell in love with anybody who so much as accidentally brushed your hand on the way past. For you, falling in love with dozens of people a day was a coping mechanism for not having anyone to love you in return. But people are not eggs and falling in love with a dozen of them does not mean your shell will remain uncracked. One day you’re going to hit the point where you’re so desperate for human contact that you’re going to snap in half and all your love will bleed out like egg yolk. But someone out there is eating a bowl of Ramen noodles right now, or putting on slippers, or settling into bed. They are doing all the normal things that you’ve done in your own life. They are just like you. They have cellulite and extra fat in all the wrong places and goals and fears and doubts and bad handwriting. The truth is that they are just like you, and being just like you, they’re looking for a lover too. They’re what you might call a soulmate. They think they’re all alone in feeling the way they do, but you’re really both two halves of a whole. And one day you’ll meet them, bump into them on the street, and your two halves will be put together, and you’ll make one.”

— Writings For Winter - For Twenty Year-Olds who have never been loved  (via beepboopboopbeep)

2022-01-11

Marguerite Duras, from The Easy Life

Text ID: I wish I could embrace the girl that I am and love her.

A poem, an exercise in omitting letters.

by Thomas Penny

Marguerite Duras, from The Easy Life

Text ID: I was no one, I had neither name nor face. Moving through August, I was: nothing.

The Agonist, Shastra Deo

— Anne Sexton, Imitations of Drowning