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“You are built of what should kill you.”
— Patricia Smith, “13 Ways of Looking at 13,” from Shoulda Been Jimi Savannah
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Ezra Miller photographed by Ryan Pfluger for Playboy Magazine.
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Update on Werewolves
by Margaret Atwood
In the old days, all werewolves were male. They burst through their bluejean clothing as well as their own split skins, exposed themselves in parks, howled at the moonshine. Those things frat boys do.
Went too far with the pigtail yanking— growled down into the pink and wriggling females, who cried Wee wee wee all the way to the bone. Heck, it was only flirting, plus a canid sense of fun: See Jane run!
But now it’s different: No longer gender specific. Now it’s a global threat.
Long-legged women sprint through ravines in furry warmups, a pack of kinky models in sado-French Vogue getups and airbrushed short-term memories, bent on no-penalties rampage.
Look at their red-rimmed paws! Look at their gnashing eyeballs! Look at the backlit gauze of their full-moon subversive halos! Hairy all over, this belle dame, and it’s not a sweater.
O freedom, freedom and power! they sing as they lope over bridges, bums to the wind, ripping out throats on footpaths, pissing off brokers.
Tomorrow they’ll be back in their middle-management black and Jimmy Choos with hours they can’t account for and first dates’ blood on the stairs. They’ll make some calls: Good-bye. It isn’t you, it’s me. I can’t say why. They’ll dream of sprouting tails at sales meetings, right in the audiovisuals. They’ll have addictive hangovers and ruined nails.
Source: lithub.com
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letheane
“I want to be able to trust, not live in perpetual self-defense.”
— Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 3: 1939-1944
Source: wordsnquotes.com
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Be kind to everything inside you others have been deeply unkind to.
Nikita Gill (via untamedunwanted)
Mid-flight
After the rain came the starlings flitting through the air feasting on insects too tiny to see impossibly graceful in their frenzy I watched and wondered what it would feel like to be loved by someone who, at that moment, would look over at my small smile and dancing eyes Who would know the frenzy of my past, the grace I have worked so hard to carry, and kiss me for it all
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The storm is settled, but we are still standing in the puddles it has left
The butterflies are blinking their wings in the sunlight, remembering they are butterflies
I tried to love you the way I try to fall asleep, but it is the trying that brings hours of ceiling staring, collecting bags for under dry eyes, a refuge for old mints and crumpled dollar bills, as well as a passport and a ticket under a false name
Perhaps it is the easy way out of the hospital bed, but now I see we were never made to touch one another we were two supernovas imploding into black holes, trying to be a constellation when it was far too late for star mapping, lost without a compass in a sea of absence and sovereignty
When you feel the feels and someone else has the exact words for it.
A Break
These moments have been relentless I cut the vegetables the way you preferred I saw your best friend as I bought groceries There was a cockroach in the cupboard and I screamed waiting for you to show up and save me I keep thinking about you giving her the love I deserved All night long the storms teased me Brilliant flashes of lightning rolling, distant thunder I had given up waiting on my porch smoked too many cigarettes drank the alcohol I swore I wouldn't I was getting ready to surrender to sleep when I heard the distinct patter of rain on the tin roof I didn't even bother putting my pants back on I ran outside, put my arms out into the falling water then stood on my toes, thrust my head out over the railing as far as it would go Felt the cold drops carress my face shivered as they slipped beneath my shirt and rolled down my spine smiled when I realized I didn't think of anything It only lasted for a few minutes but I am going to bed smelling like the desert coming alive and that is enough to ask for tonight
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“God, God, what do I do / after all this survival?”
— Traci Brimhall, from “Vive, Vive,” published in The Missouri Review
Source: missourireview.com
Monsoons
Relief from this heat is too far to the east The mountains are jealous lovers building storms up with false confidence as they pass over their peaks but not giving them the stamina needed I watch monsters with fire hearts and dark, swollen bellies reach up, up into the atmosphere, unaware of their own limits I whisper to the remnants that pass by too quick and thin to provide shade, "This desert is a place of undoing."
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But you have to satisfy the monster.
The monster has loved you
for longer than anyone else.
Florence Welch, Useless Magic: Lyrics and Poetry (via mashamorevna)
Permanence
Some things stay the same, even as they are changing. The affectionate name you called me sounds like a different word clumsily dropped by the lips of someone else. You have been dead a year and you are still so alive to me.
So this just happened...
Boy oh boy do you not know awkward until your roommate (whom you have only cohabitated with for a couple of weeks) walks in on you enthusiastically saying "YUUUUUUSSSSSSS" while looking up wide-eyed as Kala, Rajan, and Wolfgang start their threesome scene.
The Human Body is 99% Empty Space
I take note of my absence. The empty towel rack in the bathroom. Three empty cubbies in the 12-shelf bookcase. Two unoccupied hooks by the front door. The small section of a king-sized bed, formed by the edge of the mattress and the barrier of your body. Yet none of this tells me how much space I ever took up in your heart.
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Source: instagram.com