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ladycapulets · 3 years
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I AM DRINKING WINE NOW AS THE WORLD BURNS, Aisha S.
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ladycapulets · 3 years
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I want to pull out my eyelashes, I want to pick up the smashed glass and clean up the spilt wine, I want to bury all the shattered remains of this day in the empty plot of land at the end of the lane and plant rosemary and rue over it all, I want to paint my nails gold and buy oranges and sit under the sun, I want to die before my brother, I want more poems, I want to go to therapy, I want to break a bone or fall on my head so I have something to blame, I want to slip something sharp and jagged into my heart, I want to wash all this grave dirt off my hands and clean up the wine, I want to pick up all that glass so no one can step on it ever again, I want to be ophelia drop-dead-pretty or hermione stone-cold, I want my skin to turn hard and never crack, never crack, I am sick of picking up shattered things, I want I want, I want
—  Found Wanting, Aisha S.
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ladycapulets · 3 years
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“I spend the morning getting blood off my sheets and sex off my mind. See, I dreamt of blood again, and desire. There were two girls holding hands and laughing; one of them shot me in the head and the other dumped me in a lake. The water turned red, purple, and settled back on blue. I tell my lover I hate the pervasive sunshine; this warm yellow doesn't belong here. They smile. They think I'm joking. And it makes me want to vomit; it makes me want to murder the optimism in me. See, these days, there is mildew growing under my fingernails and mushrooms blooming in the soft hollow of my skull. The shower water runs red, purple, dirty grey. I don't know how to say nighttime hides rot, the apple seeds I swallowed, the poison I nurture in my stomach. I don't know how to say come kiss me, when I taste of belladonna and nightshade. Look, watch how my skin sloughs off under your touch, I am a corpse reanimated, more morgue than girl, more scar tissue than flesh. One of my dream girls had a hard gaze, but gentle hands- she moved the hair out of my eyes before taking me lakeside. I saw she wore my face. Darling, love, sweetheart, I don't know how to tell you that dawn has no place here. This is a body of ghosts.”
—  I Dreamt of Blood Again, Aisha S.
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ladycapulets · 3 years
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— THE FLOWERS ARE DROWING BACK HOME, AISHA S.
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ladycapulets · 3 years
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a bit of a summer storm
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ladycapulets · 3 years
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— I HAVE CHANGED MY NAME TO EVE, Aisha S.
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ladycapulets · 3 years
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— LOVE HITS ME LIKE AN EPIPHANY, Aisha S.
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ladycapulets · 3 years
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lately all i can write about is how sad i am.
i don’t like it. it goes-
‘today i woke up and cried. my bed feels lonely. i wish you were here.’
i don’t cry though. i have headaches from staying up too late. my bed is too cramped to make loneliness feel at home. it looks at the mess i make each morning and slithers away. i do miss you, but i also miss having toast for breakfast and blueberry jam and the way he tastes after a fight.
i guess that’s all there is.
“today morning the light hit my hair just right and it felt like how it did when you smiled at me.”
i scribble it all down. turn pain into poetry, fifteen year old me says. take all the hurt and make something beautiful out of it.
i think of texting you, but i don’t want to impose is what i tell myself. 
“the rain feels nice. i am fine. i miss the boy who said he wanted to love the sadness out of me.”
his name is long forgotten, but i still remember how he cupped my arms and asked me to give him a chance. i tell him no, soft enough that he thinks it’s a yes and i bleed for three months after that. i guess it was the sadness finally leaking out, so at least he kept his word.
“today i texted a friend and wished it was you instead.”
i don’t know how to tell you that i think i love you. it lodges itself in my throat and i choke. i am not made for love, people have told me. i am made for the way i look on top of them or under them or tied up. they tell me i have pretty skin that begs to be marked up and i smile and nod and let them. you looked at me like you’d rather i walk beside you.
here’s what i know. 
i’m too smart for my own good. i overanalyze everything. my body is covered in scars. i miss my dad. i hate the way cars smell. i cannot stand summer but i tell you i love it cause you loathe it. i love to climb up to the rooftop and look at the stars. i kissed a girl when i was eleven and let her turn me into a monster. i kissed a boy when i was eighteen and turned him into a monster. i am a no good, foolish little thing, but i light up when you’re there and that scares me. 
so i tell you i’m sad. 
it’s easier that way.
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ladycapulets · 3 years
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The Cat
Evangeline Gallagher February/October 2020
Prints available! : 
 https://www.inprnt.com/gallery/evangelinegallagher/watching-the-end-of-the-world/
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ladycapulets · 3 years
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a poem abt the thrinaxodon and broomistega who died together
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ladycapulets · 3 years
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I AM BUILDING A MUSEUM TO GIRLHOOD | Aisha S.
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ladycapulets · 3 years
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I WRITE POETRY TO GET IT DOWN - michael gray bulla
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ladycapulets · 3 years
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Mary Oliver
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ladycapulets · 3 years
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— CATHERYNNE M. VALENTE, A Monstrous Manifesto.
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ladycapulets · 3 years
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— Love Letter to the Sharp-Edged Girl, Aisha S.
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ladycapulets · 3 years
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“The poet is really a thief of fire.”
— Arthur Rimbaud, from a letter to Paul Demeny, May 15, 1871. (via xshayarsha)
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ladycapulets · 3 years
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whale skeletons by @/horationed 
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