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yearningheart · 8 hours ago
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Just before sunrise vs an hour later.
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yearningheart · 8 hours ago
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—Natalie Diaz, from “Waist and Sway,” Postcolonial Love Poem 
[text ID: Wanting her was so close to prayer— I should not. But it was July, and in a city where desire means, Upstairs we can break each other open, the single blessing I had to give was Mouth— so gave and gave I did.]
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yearningheart · 9 hours ago
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“Languages are not algorithms of one another, you cannot match them item for item,” she says, adding “what if [there is] a word that does not intend to be translatable.” She calls this “a word that stops itself,” and writes: “in the presence of a word that stops itself, in that silence, one has the feeling that something has passed us and kept going, that some possibility has got free.” There it is again, that indescribable nearness, the sense of proximity to something words can’t identify.
— In which she is Anne Carson, as written here.
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yearningheart · a day ago
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love it when people are just a little bit unraveled. hair wisps flying everywhere, wrinkles in yesterday's t-shirt, pockets reserved for useless things only. fingers kissed blue from the last pen that fell in love with you. laugh on the wrong side of raw. smile on the right side of bizarre. bright eyes smeared kohl dark, hungry mouth stained lollipop red. messy messy messy messy. you are blurry like the edges of my favorite old photograph. each second you're born anew. you are beautiful and terrible and the most irreplaceable part of living and i could love you forever and ever and ever
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yearningheart · a day ago
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baby girl your speech patterns make no sense. im in love with you
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yearningheart · 2 days ago
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“The night insists, the night touches my forehead, touches my thoughts. What does it want?”
— Octavio Paz, “San Ildefonso Nocturne” from The Poems of Octavio Paz (trans. Eliot Weinberger)
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yearningheart · 3 days ago
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yearningheart · 3 days ago
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“What haunts is not that which is gone, it is that which was expected to come but whose condition of arrival has been foreclosed, and the ghost is an advocate of the promised future that was unrightfully canceled when the past was destroyed.”
— Sadeq Rahimi, The Hauntology of Everyday Life
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yearningheart · 4 days ago
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so easy to write and share a poem abt the vague idea of a person but when i write a poem about a Person in my life I’m like. no one can ever know . this is the most humiliating thing i’ve ever done .
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yearningheart · 4 days ago
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— Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena
[text ID: I wish the world were ending tomorrow. Then I could take the next train, arrive at your doorstep in Vienna, and say, 'Come with me, Milena. We are going to love each other without scruples or fears or restraint because the world is ending tomorrow.' ]
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yearningheart · 4 days ago
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so disheartening to learn that when you grow up feeling like ur not enough for whatever reason it literally haunts all of your interpersonal relationships even as an adult.........like when do i stop feeling like this how do i rewire my brain into having normal healthy thoughts and feelings in regards to the people in my life & not miscontruing how they act towards me. not feeling like you're enough is truly the sickest self-fulfilling prophecy
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yearningheart · 4 days ago
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— Jennifer S. Cheng, from So We Must Meet Apart
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yearningheart · 4 days ago
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life rlly just feels like a vicious cycle of whispering to yrself "im good. im kind. i am a lover. i am. soft handed." & it returns back to you as "are you sure? are you sure? are you sure?"
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yearningheart · 4 days ago
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how sweet is this 💛
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yearningheart · 5 days ago
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South London Forever - Florence + The Machine
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yearningheart · 6 days ago
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"And be careful, they said, take care of the heart. It still has to break open into a thousand different wounds. It still has to know knife after knife after knife."
— "Wash the Blood Off Your Feet" by Faiz Ahmed Faiz, tr. Agha Shahid Ali
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yearningheart · 7 days ago
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“If I could attach our blood vessels so we could become each other I would. If I could attach our blood vessels in order to anchor you to the earth to this present time I would. If I could open up your body and slip inside your skin and look out your eyes and forever have my lips fused with yours I would. It makes me weep to feel the history of your flesh beneath my hands in a time of so much loss. It makes me weep to feel the movement of your flesh beneath my palms as you twist and turn over to one side to create a series of gestures to reach up around my neck to draw me nearer. All these memories will be lost in time like tears in the rain.”
— David Wojnarowicz, from, “When I Put My Hands on Your Body” a 1990 art piece inspired by the death of his lover Peter Hujar by AIDS.
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