therosepurplewitch

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Sara Luisa Kirk, from "Begin here,"

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kafka

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Naomi Shihab Nye

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Witches nook

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Analicia Sotelo, from Virgin: Poems; “Trauma with a Second Chance at Humiliation”

[Text ID: “To admit I love you would be to admit / I love ideas more than men, / myself even less than ideas.”]

[therosepurplewitch]

The Wild Iris

by Louise Glück

At the end of my suffering there was a door.

Hear me out: that which you call death I remember.

Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting. Then nothing. The weak sun flickered over the dry surface.

It is terrible to survive as consciousness buried in the dark earth.

Then it was over: that which you fear, being a soul and unable to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth bending a little. And what I took to be birds darting in low shrubs.

You who do not remember passage from the other world I tell you I could speak again: whatever returns from oblivion returns to find a voice:

from the center of my life came a great fountain, deep blue shadows on azure seawater.

[therosepurplewitch]

Elle Fanning in custom Vivienne Westwood 2021

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Frank Bidart, “To the Dead”, Half-Light: Collected Poems, 1965-2016

[Text ID: “The love I’ve known is the love of two people staring

not at each other, but in the same direction.”]

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Freed of London- red ballet shoes made for Moira Shearer for her role as Victoria Page in the film The Red Shoes (1948) (via)

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I have never been much good with living things. Brightness and darkness I do rather well with.

Louise Glück, from The Setting Sun in "Winter Recipes From The Collective: Poems"

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“You are going to break your promise. I understand. And I hold my hands over the ears of my heart, so that I will not hate you.”

— Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless

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— Love poetry discovered by Archaeologists in Egypt from the New Kingdom period 3,300 years ago.

[TEXT ID: I shall lie down at home / and pretend to be dying. / Then the neighbors will all come in / to gape at me, and, perhaps, she will come / with them. / When she comes, I won't need a doctor, / she knows why I am ill. END ID]

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quote from Tôkyô-Girls ☆

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La Fille de L'eau, Jean Renoir, 1925.

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― Claire Keegan, Small Things Like These

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fragments of Sappho and a yarrow stem

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― Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet