love this poem

when I lay my head on your chest
I slow my breathing
until our hearts beat at the same time


so that between each breath
there is a moment of silence,
like time is standing still


just for us
and though it only lasts a moment
I pretend it is forever.

—  forever by shelby leigh

“You said, he loves you as much as you love him. Then, why the both of you are not still together?” he asked.

“We both love each other. Yes, yes. And I’m not really sure why we’re not still together.” she answered very carefully as if the words she said hurt her heart like knives cutting through her veins. “Some may say it’s because of our priorities in life. But some may say that it’s not yet the perfect time. But who the hell really knows? Is it me? Is it him? I don’t know. I don’t even understand. They say that opposites do attract each other, while same signs do otherwise. We’re like walking on parallel lines with an infinite spaces in between, that even if we run faster, we will never bump on each other at the finish line. No matter how hard we try.”

—  ma.c.a // And sometimes, the world seems to be against us
If you
10 years from now,
with a new love in your arms
happen to remember the way my smile graced my lips,
the way my breath used to fill up your lungs
at 2 in the morning,
then all is enough.
That will be more
than enough for me.
—  Lukas W. // When I am not the one

She was romantic, 
perhaps perverted
Love was pouring 
from her eyes
She was too beautiful for her 
own good. 
She was vivid with
her mouth,
and her body
a powerful thing. 
She denied every culture,
and cried holy tears 
to God. 
She was terrifying.
When I would kiss her 
it felt like God
created the world in her mouth. 
I did not know 
how to touch her.
She was a wet woman 
on fire. 
I did not know how the
hell to love her. 
She was too much 
and I hated her for that.
She was too much,
and I loved her for it. 

In her presence I would die.

—  Her Bed Was A Kingdom by Royla Asghar 
you are thirteen years old and the girl is made of flowers —
soft, gentle;
of quiet nights and warm blankets.
you are thirteen years old and you don’t know what it means
and you are afraid 
 
then, you are sixteen years old
the girl is made of light
warm, close;
of wide smiles and midnight laughter
and you are so in love with her
and you know
—  28.3.17
I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket. “Come over”, the text from you reads. So just like every other Saturday night, I hop into my car and follow the dim street lights to your side of town. As I listen to the radio play, our song comes on. The rain starts to drop down, first as a drizzle, then a downpour. I find myself lost in my thoughts, and lost in the music. I wonder how long this will last. How long until you’ll stop sending those two words, “come over”. How long until those words don’t just disappear, but turn into something even better. I smile as I pull into your driveway, just thinking, waiting. Waiting for “come over” to turn into “come home.
—  home is in your arms // 3.29.17

anonymous asked:

poetry book recs, kind sir?

ooooooh YES!! 

ok so I’m going to leave out stuff that’s Too Obvious, which means a lot of this is niche (to me) or contemporary, and… I recently had a canary on twitter about how much ~*~modern~*~ poetry GETS MY GOAT. I’m reading a lot of New poets/collections this year purely because I… didn’t really read that much contemporary stuff before, and I thought I should branch out. (so far I’m dubious.) so, yes – obviously Plath, Blake, Hughes, Sappho, Eliot, Keats, Shelley, etc. etc. ad nauseum, The Greats, yadda yadda, here’s some others.

so far this year I’ve read (and ENJOYED - I’m not reccing the ones I wasn’t into/thought were pants, soz): 

  • Letters From Medea by Salma Deera
  • Grief Is the Thing with Feathers by Max Porter
  • Hold Your Own by Kate Tempest (I actually LOVED this) 
  • Mouthful of Forevers by Clementine von Radics
  • War of the Foxes by Richard Siken (of YOU’RE SITTING IN A CAR WITH A BEAUTIFUL BOY, AND HE WON’T TELL YOU THAT HE LOVES YOU, BUT HE LOVES YOU fame) 

I’ve also read and loved:

  • Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth by Warsan Shire
  • The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy by Tim Burton
  • The Curse of the Vampire’s Socks and Other Doggerel by Terry Jones
  • Love Poems by Carol Ann Duffy
  • Let Us Compare Mythologies by Leonard Cohen

my personal 10/10 all-time go-tos are:

  • Crush by Richard Siken (despite appearing on every single tumblr graphic between 2011 and 2013, it still gets me in the heart guts)
  • The World’s Wife by Carol Ann Duffy (which I have loved wholeheartedly since I was 17 years old)
  • pretty much any collection of Great War poetry: Up the Line to Death, Men Who March Away, Lads: Love Poetry of the Trenches (the Great War poets are my favourite. like, of all poetry, ever)

my favourite individual poems, as we’re on the subj, are: 

  • ‘To His Coy Mistress’ by Andrew Marvell 
  • ‘Drummer Hodge’ by Thomas Hardy
  • ‘The Parable of the Old Man and the Young’ by Wilfred Owen
  • ‘Warming Her Pearls’ by Carol Ann Duffy
  • ‘An Eastern Ballad’ by Allen Ginsberg
  • ‘From A Railway Carriage’ by Robert Louis Stevenson
  • ‘Suicide in the Trenches’ by Siegfried Sassoon
  • ‘Dark Sonnet’ by Neil Gaiman
  • ‘Adonaïs: An Elegy on the Death of John Keats’ by Percy Bysshe Shelley
  • ‘Mad Girl’s Love Song’ by Sylvia Plath

finally, a heads up: youtube literally anything by Brave New Voices, sit back, prepare to be Shook. ‘Transcript of Civil Rights’ by Shanita Jackson and Dakota Oder still DESTROYS ME five years later.

THERE YA GO. not much, but not nothing! enjoy!! maybe?!?

You left your mark on me, and I can’t forget you. Its like no matter what I fucking do, your name is tattooed on my heart and trust me I tried to get rid of it. Tried to cover it with a different name, tried to drink it away, tried to stop feeling you through my veins but nothing ever works. Everything goes back to you.
Its always you. Its you all the damn time. Its you when I’m with him. Its you when I’m alone. Its you no matter what I do or who I’m doing it with and I give up.
I give up on trying to erase you. I give up on trying to replace you with something else, anything else because it only brings me back to the place I was when you decided I was no longer enough for you.
And I don’t understand why its so hard to forget a person who forgot you first. I don’t understand how I can still feel the exact same way we met when I don’t even really know you anymore. You only exist in my memories and the pictures I still have of you.
You are just a ghost of everything that ever was yet I still feel everything so damn clearly, as if we were back 6 months ago in your car when you first told me you loved me.
Everything is so damn clear except your so far away I don’t know how I can still see you so well.
—  You’re in my veins

I didn’t know what to feel when you told me it didn’t feel the same anymore. I thought our love was anchored 1,000 feet deep into our sea of lust and I thought we gave each other everything. I swear you told me a million times we were right for each other and that nothing else felt so real. Even on the nights that bourbon lullabies sang you to sleep and crazed images of cigarettes were all you craved, we found a way back to each other. You danced me into a love so real, so indulgent, and my lips never stopped tasting you.

I didn’t know what to say when I came home and you were packing your belongings. All those late night conversations and prescription medications lingered with me after you walked out that door. You pierced me in my most vulnerable places, and now I’m left bleeding on these wooden floors without your words stitching me up.

I don’t know why it’s two years later and your voicemails still put me in comas. I can’t tell you why my heart still aches or why your side of the bed is still waiting for you. Your touch gave me infinite butterflies, and now my stomach is empty.

It’s okay, I’ll find you in pieces.

I’ll find you in the way that girl walks as though she may fall over her own two feet. I’ll find you in the sips of coffee I savour at the cafe we used to frequent. I’ll find you in the laugh of the child who can’t possibly contain the happiness felt. I’ll find you in the smile of the boy who speaks to his love across breakfast.

It’s okay that you can’t love me.
Please believe me.

It’s okay.

I’ll find you in pieces.

—  (c.m.) // I’m not okay