kismet

zoë kravitz shot by zoey grossman

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“REVOLUTIONARY LETTER #14 are you prepared to hide someone in your home indefinitely say, two to six weeks, you going out for food, etc., so he never hits the street, to keep your friends away coolly, so they ask no questions, to nurse him, or her, as necessary, to know ‘first aid’ and healing (not to freak out at the sight of torn or half-cooked flesh) to pass him on at the right time to the next station, to cross the canadian border, with a child so that the three of you look like one family, no questions asked or fewer, to stash letters, guns, or bombs forget about them till they are called for, to KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT not to ‘trust’ even your truelove, that is, lay no more knowledge on him than he needs to do his part of it, a kindness we all must extend each other in this game”

— Revolutionary Letters, Diane di Prima (via notesonresistance)

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babyspicegf:

babyspicegf:
anne carson: why does tragedy exist? because you are full of rage. why are you full of rage? because you are full of grief
me: oh my gosh anne you’re so smart! guys, isn’t she just so smart? i love how smart you are anne 🥰💖😘💞🙈💋

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babyspicegf:

babyspicegf:
anne carson: why does tragedy exist? because you are full of rage. why are you full of rage? because you are full of grief
me: oh my gosh anne you’re so smart! guys, isn’t she just so smart? i love how smart you are anne 🥰💖😘💞🙈💋

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My mind is a wishbone drying. I hold it taut & pull to break.

—Emily Skaja, from “How to Mend a Faucet Dripping Thread,” Brute

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I’m a visitor in my own bedroom. // I’m the village beauty of a ghost town.

—Nina Getachew, from “Habeshawit,” The BreakBeat Poets Vol. 3: Halal If You Hear Me

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Sorrow was our favorite place to undress, hoping time / would be a forgiving God.

—Desireé Dallagiacomo, from “The Funny Wind of the Heart Is Not a Reliable Weathervane,” Sink

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lifeinpoetry:

& what happens is, the man walks
into whatever place he wants,
& says: i’ll take. i’m telling you.
if i gave them everything they’ve asked
for, i would already be dead.
— Maggie Woodward, from “Crisis Actor,” published in Peach

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from “Good Me’s Saudade of Bad Me”

lifeinpoetry:

She’s dangerous.
She’s useful.
I miss her.
— Lindsey Alexander, Rodeo in Reverse

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lifeinpoetry:

I’m an orphic phantasm, hair
combed through with
stalactites
I’m a bouquet
of limbs appliquéd
on pouring rain,
what can the spectral evening muster
in lament?
— Afshan Shafi, from “A woman is never still,” published in Poetry

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itchycoil:

I saw you from across the room…

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fameorbust:

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dare-i-say-asexual:

being a preteen girl is so weird i remember one time when i was 11 a friend wouldn’t talk to me for a week because she was mad that the ritual we did at a slumber party to summon the jonas brothers into her dreams didn’t work for her but i had a nightmare about them chasing me through a dark airport