the string of fate can turn into a noose before you know it
8 notes
·
View notes
She made a home in my heart,
And refuses to let anyone else in.
~Vodka
17 notes
·
View notes
”In my mind I’m cheating on him constantly”
- ayla j.
8 notes
·
View notes
Is it written all over me?
Fotos. James Baxx, Yakubu Tauheed, Anna McNaught
2 notes
·
View notes
Who I was when I met them was not someone who could have loved them in the way they deserved
I wasn’t ready to be loved and so I didn’t love
7 notes
·
View notes
6 notes
·
View notes
why would you want to be happy when you can make great art instead
2 notes
·
View notes
my mind state is a dystopia disguised as a utopia
6 notes
·
View notes
I am afraid to be found but I am waiting for it.
3 notes
·
View notes
favorite thing ab chatgpt is that if it doesn’t know something it’ll just start fucking lying. like blatantly fucking lying.
my dad teaches english classes and he just got a final paper with this sentence: “In terms of style, both poets are known for their use of imagery, but O'Hara's tends to be more straightforward and concrete, while Stevens' is often more abstract and metaphorical — for example, in O'Hara's poem "The French / Window," he writes: "A cat walks along the garden wall / and the tree waves its branches / The French / windows are blah" (lines 1-4).”
the thing about “The French / Window” is that it is not a poem that exists. at all. like, it was literally just written by chatgpt then inexplicably named as a famous frank o’hara poem. and it’s so. fucking. funny. sooo basically heads up for finals season — those of you who use chatgpt, be warned, because you will quite literally be citing nonexistent texts and your professors will show it to their daughters and together they will laugh at you endlessly and you will deserve it
45K notes
·
View notes
Lesbian sex, raucous terrifying applause
1 note
·
View note
It's my best friend my first love's birthday:
To what we say;
If We Knew We Were Gay Then by Mr. PoetAll
The things we could have done...
1 note
·
View note
A dying autumn leaf, praying to turn into a shooting star
1 note
·
View note
DIRECTOR'S NOTE • Nov. 2023
You can't go home. This play has a particular
care for and interest in its victims. The resident
inciting event is endless. tragedy is much more
concerned with footnotes than it is with gods.
well acquainted with what happens afterward,
storytellers claim they can't diverge from what's
written: resist. rage against what must be.
tell a story about war without talking
about love. survive its aftermath. fail
to find resolution. make this suffering
a home. There's no breaking this chain—
fate, as always, gets its way.
Poetry assembled from the program of an Oresteia production. Nov. 2023.
5K notes
·
View notes
Sometimes I touch my hair just to see if your eyes follow.
0 notes
I don't like meeting new people and becoming a new version of myself feels eerily similar
a stranger in my own skin
1 note
·
View note