adoringhertentativity

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Rebloging to be a reminder

— Elena Ferrante, from “The Days of Abandonment.”

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🔴 FAITH IN THE FUTURE ⚫️ The New Album. Out Now. louist.lnk.to/FaithInTheFuture

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“I killed a plant once because i gave it too much water. lord, i worry that love is violence.”

— José Olivarez, from "Getting Ready to Say I Love You to My Dad, It Rains,"

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The Necessity of Wildfire, Caitlin Scarano

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Every clothes, everything that resembles his existence really caught me drowning

- David Keplinger and Bruce Bond, Whoever is not home grows sick.

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when eileen myles wrote “this intolerable sadness i am learning to tolerate”

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-Focused-

His eyes could melt you with one look

There was so much to them

Every thought

Every intention

Every hidden feeling

That sparkle of Intelligence

He would scan you quickly

And within sixty seconds

He’d tell you things about your day

That he couldn’t possibly know

A true observer

Or perhaps something more

Something mystical

Either way, I was captivated by him

His danger howling at every turn

And though I had no idea what would happen to me

I knew one thing for sure

I wasn’t going to be another

Thing that he had to heal from

I was going to be different

I was going to breathe love into

Every

Dark

Corner

It’s just a shame I didn’t realize

How much that could cost

[adoringhertentativity]

Just a connection through our fingertips gets me

“We are not people who touch each other carelessly; every point of contact between us feels important, a rush of energy and relief.”

— Veronica Roth

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The way his uniqueness conquer this case,

Just gonna be the glimpse of every moon phase.

Everything will be earn,

And I'm proud to get burn.

#nothing but strawberries #prose poetry #poetry #literary #grievances

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i drink from solace and taste delirium on my fingertips. 08/15. S.R.

transcript under the cut:-

I drink from solace and taste delirium on my fingertips

The first time I drink from solace, in a goblet adorned with rubies and pearls (oval-shaped like the ones my mother wears) is when I am six. Me and my cousins, we lay in the arms of the moon, our bodies sunken into each crater and pushed into a happiness that borders on delirium with the shadows of my mum and aunt looming over us as they speak of other worlds they ran from, at night when half the world runs and the other half drowns.

Our eyes run before falling into a trot when they point toward the glow-in-the-dark stickers of stars and an astronaut draped on the moon. We laugh and gasp and wonder about the worlds far away and when our mouths are open, they move aside the laughter that sticks to their fingers like honey to the insides of our cheeks and places the bitter yet sweet hope under our tongues, telling us to get used to its taste from now.

I drown in that particular memory for years. It is facile to do so when you are curious and gluttonous about the past. When you dig deep in hunger only to strike gold, you find it painless to lick the mud off your fingers to haul it. It is always easy to find comfort in memories, beings who are as tall as my family. The memory of my father taking me out to a restaurant, a stout 6'1 man. The memory adorns itself in square-shaped glasses and short black hair. The memory of my first time with solace takes multiple forms, one being a dainty 5'7 woman who is docile yet is kind enough to trap your soul with the juice of oranges. Another woman takes the form of a 5'5 memory. One of short stature as she runs along with her niece to hide from her sons.

They hold me with the solace that flitted away from me like the orange butterfly I saw when I was talking to the short ones. The one which ran back into their arms, having me chase for it for years. I think that all this time it was easy to find solace. It is easy to find solace when it had been hiding behind my mother and aunt all these years in the same manner as a shy child, only to come out when they speak of those far away worlds to me.

-S.R.

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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