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“I can’t abandon
the person I used to be
so I carry her”
365 Days of Haiku, Day #123 (via idreamof-pb)

xxvii.

(Source: asriels)

trans star

I don’t want

a man’s body

or a woman’s body

 

I want a celestial body

smoking hot and untouchable

radiant in every sense

'Turbotastic!' screamed
across crumbling mountain pops.
I’m gonna wreck it.

screwballdame:

enough poetry about loving me
despite my imperfections.

my scars are not invitations to kiss my skin.

i did not go through hell for you to insist
that the burning coals i walked on
didn’t happen; didn’t exist.

“There are poems
inside of you
that paper can’t
handle.”
(via forebidden)

(Source: rustyvoices)

Fe₂O₃·nH₂O

The rust is ever-present:
Just look at the title.
The rust is effervescent:
Just look right inside you.

bedofproses:

scientists tell us that all water

is old water,

that there is no room for originality,

that everything is recycled.

the anguish of Achilles bleeding out

face-down in the Trojan dirt

mingles with that of a stockbroker caught

in the ebb and flow of the markets,

and what I am trying to say is that the tears

navigating south through the canyons on your face

may have once wet the cheeks

of Alexander the Great

for the same reason.

Diesel

My neck stretches

Like silly putty

Down onto the floor

The ice cold tiles

Send a current

Freeze my body from the head up

But I am special

I start melting

And I drip down

Through the patches in my chair

The weight of my flesh

Feels like blankets

I flow out into the seine

Anonymous said: no no it's not like that more likeyr mom closed the car door on yr handmore like you had to burn the colony with babies stillinside and that felt weird righti letter them too babe i cansit two in their sequence just finei'll even comply with yr rhyme scheme for crystalline thrilled thanks and a gun yr welcome but better than him, and quick as you liketo the quicks to the rinds just fine just fine

fixed line breaks version w/ title:

"nice&"

no no it’s not like that more like
yr mom closed the car door on yr hand
more like you had to burn the colony with babies still
inside and that felt weird right

i letter them too babe i can
sit two in their sequence just fine

i’ll even comply with yr rhyme scheme for crystalline
thrilled thanks and a gun yr welcome
but better than him, and quick as you like
to the quicks to the rinds just fine just fine

a poem about poetry (writing and how hard it is)

the world is loud loud loud
and specifically
Paris
is loud loud LOUD

you don’t remember
that Paris
is still
a city
CITY

I have world cup watchers screaming from next door
I have tourists screaming on their buses
I have natives screaming on their phones
I have roommates screaming in my ear

tais-toi
I have a motorcycle hostage
underneath my window
orange juice ready to spill

I have a camera hostage
a bus hostage
a city
and a world

all I’m demanding
is a bubble of my own

The Last Billboard

A 36-foot-long billboard located at the corner of Highland and Baum in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Every month, a different individual is invited to take over the billboard to broadcast personalized messages, which are spelt out using wooden letters that are changed by hand. 

you can follow its tumblr here. 

I sailed in a paper milk carton across the Seine,
course set for la femme aflame in golden haze,
on the ash-frosted waves of the Seine sereine.

On her
scopulo, coal-crowned featherless Siren,
she hums a silent ode that floats upon lemonade rays.
I sailed in a paper milk carton across the Seine.
 
Counterpoint currents chinois et américain
strand my ship within the drifting whirlpool maze,
on the ash-frosted waves of the Seine sereine.

Beyond my control, beyond my ken,
my eyes holding—held by her steadfast gaze,
I sailed in a paper milk carton across the Seine.
 
My ship rolled, sank briefly, its fate incertaine.
Tossed up and forward, I looked to my lady for her praise,
on the ash-frosted waves of the Seine sereine.
 
But the oil-painted tides took me again,
driving me further from my lady seated on her dais,
I sailed in a paper milk carton across the Seine,
on the ash-frosted waves of the Seine sereine.