Tumpik
#out of my collection
lifeinpoetry · 2 days ago
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Inside the dress, there is a creature, she
careful
is a cliff in a girl’s body.
— Noʻu Revilla, from "Memory as missionary position," Ask the Brindled
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wedarkacademia · 2 months ago
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I am doing my best to not become a museum of myself. I am doing my best to breathe in and out.
I am begging: 𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦.
Natalie Díaz, Postcolonial Love Poem
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aboutbirds · 2 months ago
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even out here where the water is painfully clear and to drown in it is to sense the movement of its colour as a cold mathematical power have you not heard even out here these stories how in her house of silverware and deep baths a woman began to dream she began to wake and the heart stirring inside her clothes felt bruised as if a hand was squeezing it
Alice Oswald, from Nobody
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lifeinpoetry · 2 days ago
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& how do I write / that you are there too / pretty dust girl / curled deep in your cave of remarkable horror / inside yourself / uroboros / smiling a no / putting your headphones on / staring into your hands / unscrewing your fists / every time you / open your mouth / a white man jumps out / & wolfs you / how do I write that / there is a grave at the grave meeting of my legs / & no one goes there after dark / except with nets / to catch all these beautiful ghosts / pinning them to novels / pages plucked / vajazzled / & while we are at it / how should I write that / I had all your ghost babies / they live together at the edge of the woods / & don’t write home anymore.
— Joelle Taylor, from "Trauma: the Opera," C+nto
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lifeinpoetry · a day ago
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Wellbutrin: smooth as a rattlesnake swallowed backward, whole and alive, chemical grains shaking a warning all the way down my throat. I grew venomous, grew scales, & wanted to skin myself to make boots.
— Rachel Wiley, from "All the Pills I Tried Before," Revenge Body
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lifeinpoetry · 10 hours ago
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in seven days, she destroyed your world. for the next seven, eat with your fingers & trust only the moon. there will be pressure-cooked pork. there will be gauze.
— Noʻu Revilla, from "After she leaves you, femme," Ask the Brindled
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lifeinpoetry · 2 days ago
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I’m tired of knocking on the doors of empires.
— Zeina Hashem Beck, from "Dear white critic," O
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lifeinpoetry · 20 hours ago
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Effexor: pretty petals plucked from poppies the color of a gentle blush, we slept and slept and slept without dreaming of anything at all. Apathy is the new love.
— Rachel Wiley, from "All the Pills I Tried Before," Revenge Body
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lifeinpoetry · a day ago
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The store owner who’s given us space to change tells me the story of this ancient street, tells me about the shootings a few years ago, says And they were all neighbors, says Nothing works, nothing works, says his uncle comes here every morning just to bathe and feed this kitten. I do not tell him I heard the fire from my house. I raise my eyebrows. I shake my head. I code switch I dress switch I silent I carnival I hypocrite. When you say blasphemy, what do you mean?
— Zeina Hashem Beck, from "Souk," O
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lifeinpoetry · 15 hours ago
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when she pulls on her boots / she is pulling someone out of water / when she leaves the flat / she is the first foot in an impossible place / her flag / a picture of herself / with her back turned / brute mother / loving rage / she plucks the rainbow out of its wound / flicks it into a whip / some girls carry the storm in their mouths / some in their palms / she named her third knuckle after you / so it would always remember / its birth language / & tonight / Matthew / she will make friends / from the offcut of enemies.
— Joelle Taylor, from "Angel — the destroyer," C+nto
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lifeinpoetry · a day ago
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Tangled, tight, dry with blood and defeat, my cunt lays down its arms at the sight of your ear against the lips of anoth er.
— Tatiana Luboviski-Acosta, from "Cerca de ti," La Movida
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lifeinpoetry · a month ago
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I am hungry for touch & ashamed to be looked at
— Safia Elhillo, from "Summer," Girls That Never Die
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lifeinpoetry · 5 months ago
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you’re so polite with your sadness. you don’t want to ruin this for anyone.
— Silas Melvin, from “Twenty,” Grit
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lifeinpoetry · 2 months ago
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Colonizers write about flowers. I tell you about children throwing rocks at Israeli tanks seconds before becoming daisies. I want to be like those poets who care about the moon. Palestinians don’t see the moon from jail cells and prisons. It’s so beautiful, the moon. They’re so beautiful, the flowers.
— Noor Hindi, from “Fuck Your Lecture on Craft, My People Are Dying,” DEAR GOD. DEAR BONES. DEAR YELLOW.
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lifeinpoetry · 2 months ago
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child abuse language is domestic abuse language is cop language is dad language is I’m warning you language is don’t make me tell you again is punishment language is the prison guard’s language and we learn it early is the torturer’s language don’t say I didn’t warn you is the seed of fascism already here
— Daniel Sarah Karasik, ““tough but fair”,” Plenitude
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lifeinpoetry · 5 months ago
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I don’t know where I’m going. Where I came from is disappearing. I am unwelcome. My beauty is not beauty here. My body is burning with the shame of not belonging, my body is longing. I am the sin of memory and the absence of memory. I watch the news and my mouth becomes a sink full of blood.
— Warsan Shire, from “Home,” Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice in Her Head
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lifeinpoetry · 4 months ago
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                                This body isn’t a trial run                                 for your real life.                                                         Take your life
                                in your hands. Make your hands useful                                 or you’ll be sorry.                                                          You say sorry
                                more than anything else.
— Natalie Wee, from “Ten Years after Diagnosis,” Beast at Every Threshold
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