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full moon nail polish // love by luna

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Michaela Stark by Raga Muñecas

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Joan Tierney

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reading a textbook for class and i’m going insane. why is this just poetry. what. this is a STEM class what’s going on.

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the massive power of trains yet confinement to a single path makes them comparable to angels

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everytime I read some completely feral line of poetry on this website it's by anne carson. every time it's dripping with yearning it's richard silken. becoming moss? mary oliver.

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Sun Bleached Flies

Handmade Collage, Beauty No. 7, 2022

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art nouveau really slapped and served and they were so right about florals and curves and unconventionality and originality and being inspired by the shapes of nature and wanting to incorporate fine art into home design and rejecting the compulsory conformity of mass manufacturing like every time i see an utilitarian square bricks and metal building i want to kill myself immediately

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Me when

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i love unhinged women but i also love women who try so fucking hard to be hinged. clinging to those hinges by her fingernails.

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Robin Beth Schaer, “Holdfast”

[text ID: The dead are for morticians & butchers to touch. Only a gloved hand. Even my son will leave a grounded wren or bat alone like a hot stove. When he spots a monarch in the driveway he stares. It’s dead, I say, you can touch it. The opposite rule: butterflies are too fragile to hold alive, just the brush of skin could rip a wing. He skims the orange & black whorls with only two fingers, the way he learned to feel the backs of starfish & horseshoe crabs at the zoo, the way he thinks we touch all strangers. I was sad to be born, he tells me, because it means I will die. I once loved someone I never touched. We played records & drank coffee from chipped bowls, but didn’t speak of the days pierced by radiation. A friend said: Let her pretend. She needs one person who doesn’t know. If I held her, I would have left bruises, if I undressed her, I would have seen scars, so we never touched & she never had to say she was dying. We should hold each other more while we are still alive, even if it hurts. People really die of loneliness, skin hunger the doctors call it. In a study on love, baby monkeys were given a choice between a wire mother with milk & a wool mother with none. Like them, I would choose to starve & hold the soft body.]

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After Abel, Dante Émile

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[ID: 3 green leaves with text stamped on them. They say "It's so hot and the sky's so blue", "I want people to know me", "but it's so hard to tell them". ]