— Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals Of Sylvia Plath

[text ID: And so it seems I must always write you letters that I can never send.]

Idk how to explain it but Taylor saying "I struggle with the idea of not feeling like a person" for Anti-Hero makes so much sense when you realize she literally has to trademark her name and become a brand

First Mastermind now Vigilante Shit. Taylor is making a batman movie

I want nothing more than to kiss him until my lungs hurt. Breathing is overrated anyway

hey (with the intention of do you think i care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference)

“I thought of how many nights I had lain awake in this room loving him in silence.

Later, Achilles pressed close for a final, drowsy whisper, ‘If you have to go, you know I will go with you.’ We slept.”

The Song Of Achilles, 118

i like libraries and caramel candies and sketchy carnival rides and laughing. i like things that make me love being alive

meet me at midnight 🌌

uhm…. being led through the mist…. by the milk light of moon?? also all that was lost is revealed. if you even care.

There was never any distance between anything at all.

Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss by Antonio Canova

by Sappho

Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out by Richard Siken

To Fanny Brawne (13 October, 1819), John Keats

The Kiss, 1907 by Gustav Klimt

The Meeting in a Dream, Jorge Luis Borges

Holy Things in This World, Emery Allen

You Are Jeff by Richard Siken

what i got by silas denver melvin (written at the unrelatable writing retreat, sep 17 2022)

[Text ID: got bad. got worse. got suspended for blessing the face of a transphobe with the open palmed reckoning of my small hands. got praised. got punished. got home & ma, her crown bowed to the steering wheel, her tired, dish-water knuckles smoothing imagined creases from her Stevie Nicks skirt, told me she understood, but couldn't condone. got taken out of class. got put in therapy. got threatened, thanked, spit at, spit on. got everything but even. got medicated. got put in a small room with a suit-pressed man & a single particle wood table. got asked if i thought id ever see heaven. got a good look & measured my answer. got considered like livestock. got 5 days out of school like isolation was a fever-trick to sweat out the sick they assigned to my blood. got up on the last day, before the yolk-heavy sun even broke the fragile line of the horizon, before the cat birds could perch on the white birch branches & begin their endless crying, & thought to myself let heaven start where my boots are laced & allow no merciless crowd decide me otherwise, which is to say… i got out & from there, i have yet to stop. /End ID]

Trying to maintain my swagful whimsy and optimism rn in the face of an anti-whimsy society

— Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals Of Sylvia Plath

[text ID: And so it seems I must always write you letters that I can never send.]

musings on touch

margaret atwood, natalie diaz, ocean vuong, susan sontag, anne carson, marya hornbacher, mary oliver

scratching my head & shrugging before entering any public bathroom

"In my culture, we know death intimately. In Arabic, the highest expression of love is the phrase "ya'aburnee" Translated "you bury me" . It means "I love you so much, I'd sooner die than bury you". It was used by mothers in our lineage who were so used to losing their young in war. In my culture, we cannot talk about love without speaking death's name"

-George Abraham, "Untitled," Published In Black Napkin Press