miss i, gin pen
24year-old writer with two degrees and no fucks to give.
“failed attempts to write a love poem”
Catch a Body
Oliver BendorfSalinger, I’m sorry, but “Don’t ever tell
anybody anything” is a string of words
I would like to wrap up in canvas and sink
to the bottom of the Hudson, or extract
by laser from the ribcage of all of us
who ever believed it, who felt afraid
to miss someone, to be the last one
standing. “Tell everyone everything” is
not exactly right, but I do believe that if
your mother looks radiant in violet
you should tell her, or when a juvenile
sparrow thrashes its wings in dustpiles
and reminds you of a lover’s eyelashes,
you should say so. We are islands all of us,
but we are also boats, our secrets flares,
pyrotechnic devices by which we signal
there’s someone in here we’re still alive!
So maybe it’s, “don’t be afraid.” We can
rewrite Icarus, flame-resistant feathers,
wax that won’t melt, I mean it, I’ll draw up
a prototype right now, that burning ball
of orange won’t stop us, it’ll be everything
we dream the morning after, even if we fall
into the sea—we are boats, remember?
We are pirates. We move in nautical miles.
Each other’s anchors, each other’s buoys,
the rocket’s red, already the world entire.==
(Referencing the last lines of Catcher in the Rye.)
On this day in…
2012: No, Mark Doty
2011: from Narrative: Ali, Elizabeth Alexander
2010: Baseball Canto, Lawrence Ferlinghetti
2009: Nothing but winter in my cup, Alice George
2008: Poppies in October, Sylvia Plath
2007: I Imagine The Gods, Jack Gilbert
2006: An Offer Received In This Morning’s Mail, Amy Gerstler
2005: The Last Poem In The World, Hayden Carruth
The first time I say I love you, your face
crumbles. You look at me
the way man stares in terror
at the stars and the sea.You grasp your head, fist
your hair, hiss, whisper why me
why me I am weak I am
dirt I am dust I am
nothing—Why you? Because
the earth is made of dust
and dirt and you are as
essential to me as earth
is to sky; you give me something
to set my sun against.The dirt and the dust are not
weak. I could build a house
out of you; you are the roof
when I rain.
ABC poetry - Grantaire - The Shrouded Stranger- Allen Ginsberg
“I dream that I have burning hair
boiled arms that claw the air
the torso of an iron king
and on my back a broken wing……Who’ll come lie down in the dark with me
belly to belly and knee to knee
who’l look into my hooded eye
who’ll lie down under my darkened thigh ?”
Lost Generation.
I’m a part of Lost Generation
and I refuse to believe that
I can change the world
I realize this may be a shock but
“Happiness comes from within”
is a lie, and
“Money will make me happy”
So in thirty years I’ll tell my children
They are not the most important thing in my life
My employer will know that
I have my priority straight because
Work
Is more important than
Family
I tell you this
Once upon a time
Families stay together
But this will not be true in my era
This is a quick fix society
Experts tell me
Thirty years from now I will be celebrating the 10th anniversary of my divorce
I do not concede that
I will live in a country of my own making
In the future
Environmental destruction will be the norm
No longer can it be said that
My peers and I care about this earth
It will be evident that
My generation is apathetic and lethargic
It is foolish to presume that
There is hope
And all of this will come true unless we reverse it.
there’s a great video of someone reading this poem
Fuckin love this poem
BLESSED ARE THE SISSIES
BLESSED ARE THE BOI DYKES
BLESSED ARE THE PEOPLE OF COLOR MY BELOVED KITH AND KIN
BLESSED ARE THE TRANS
BLESSED ARE THE HIGH FEMMES
BLESSED ARE THE SEX WORKERS
BLESSED ARE THE AUTHENTIC
BLESSED ARE THE DIS-IDENTIFIERS
BLESSED ARE THE GENDER ILLUSIONISTS
BLESSED ARE THE NON-NORMATIVE
BLESSED ARE THE GENDERQUEERS
BLESSED ARE THE KINKSTERS
BLESSED ARE THE DISABLED
BLESSED ARE THE HOT FAT GIRLS
BLESSED ARE THE WEIRDO-QUEERS
BLESSED IS THE SPECTRUM
BLESSED IS CONSENT
BLESSED IS RESPECT
BLESSED ARE THE BELOVED WHO I DIDN’T DESCRIBE, I COULDN’T DESCRIBE, WILL LEARN TO DESCRIBE AND RESPECT AND LOVE
AMEN
"Mark Aguhar, “Litanies to my heavenly brown body” (via grrrlstudies)
amen
(via blck-grrl)
I believe I shall reblog this every time it comes up on my dash.
(via lindentea)
^me too
(via canis-latrans-thamnos)
by Robert Browning
That’s my last duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf’s hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said
“Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so, not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not
Her husband’s presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek: perhaps
Fra Pandolf chanced to say “Her mantle laps
Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat”: such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She had
A heart—how shall I say?—too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace—all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least. She thanked men,—good! but thanked
Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech—(which I have not)—to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, “Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark”—and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,
—E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
As if alive. Will’t please you rise? We’ll meet
The company below, then. I repeat,
The Count your master’s known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretence
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!
Intersectionality described in 4 minutes.
Utterly brilliant. Just…goosebumps…
Damn. I don’t even have the words.
LGBT and Black oppression y’all….
This will take 4 minutes of your life and make you a better person
hahahahaha
i have no fucking money
ahahahaha
