i am like a dead begoniahanging upside down because like a dead begonia I don’t give a fuck

She was resilientA brave soldier when life tested herIt didn’t matter that she did strange thingslike stand tall under the rainletting the drops kiss her skinthinking the storm was romanticIt was hard to quiet hernot...

I listen to the rainfall, my words wanna flow!Droplets run down the wall,where do they go?Letters in the raw,mesh together for the show!

Monster a person though monster not human.Monster like music. Like Beatles! Like Schumann!World full of stupid. World full of noise.Monster feel ANGRY. No birthday. No joys.World full of JUNK monster not comprehend.What is a childhood?...

She was a beautiful dreamer. The kind of girl, who kept her head in the clouds, loved above the stars and left regret beneath the earth she walked on.

Maybe love was meant to save us from ourselves.

…in that rich earth a richer dust concealed.(I’m flogging a dead horse w/ this one but this is the 1st time I’ve even seen this quotes feature! I just wanted to post something.)

According to [Galway] Kinnell, to make a poem you need the creatures of the world, language, and the unconsious brought together.

I wish to stay drenchedforeverin those rain-blue eyesin those…soul-reaching crystalsnot moving a musclenor breathingjustsavoringthis turquoise acheagainst my heart.

Poems are soft kitten furs. smoothing out the rough edges of my world.

I’m alone with the ghost of the swamp, somewhere near the weeping willows.

My second crush,don’t know, who you are,by thinking of you,my day pass.The things, the things, the things changed,forgot the first, second begins.The second crush,my second crush,don’t know who you are,but, by thinking of you,my day...

I wanted to write some words you’d remember.Words so alert they’d leap from the paper,crawl up your shoulder, lie by your ears,and purr themselves to you like baby kittens,but it was rainy, so I laid...

From one bell all the bells toll.

I wanted a perfect ending. Now Ive learned, the hard way, that some poems dont rhyme, and some stories dont have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change,...

The Old StoicRiches I hold in light esteem, And Love I laugh to scorn; And lust of fame was but a dream, That vanished with the morn:And if I pray, the only prayer That moves...

This wobbly worldhost to insects and lintand a thousand pithy waysto feel unserious each minuteIt brings abouta great softening of the mind, likethe clouded edges of sea glass (thisfilter you could download and apply)A poultice...

Nothing is a masterpiece – a real masterpiece – till it’s about two hundred years old. A picture is like a tree or a church, you’ve got to let it grow into a masterpiece. Same...

I die a little,In the echo of your silence.

Humans will never be in charge of this world, as long as dust and weeds do as they please.

The chaos in me is the chaos in you. Like the love in you is the love in me. So maybe we’re both a little crazy. Enough to believe we’re found where dreams are born...

We’re only instruments of love, flowing through heaps of pain hoping one day we’d hatch a passion of our own.

as kids we counted on our fingers, as we grew up we started counting more on people, now what do you think was more disappointing?

Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don’t love me, love my writing & love me for my writing. It is also much more: a way of ordering and reordering the chaos of...

the sapphire depthof my own love…startlesand warmsand wounds my soul.

the glory of the protagonist is always paid for by a lot of secondary characters

My WishI wish my hearing would ceaseSo I could no longer hear your words.I wish my eyes would ceaseSo I could no longer see your gestures.I wish my mind would ceaseSo I could no longer...

When You See Millions of the Mouthless Dead”When you see millions of the mouthless deadAcross your dreams in pale battalions go,Say not soft things as other men have said,That you’ll remember. For you need not...

A poem is true if it hangs together. Information points to something else. A poem points to nothing but itself.

Gazing from the moon, we see one earth, without borders, Mother Earth, her embrace encircling one people, humankind.

Where the mind is without pain Where knowledge is gain; With you, life is not vain Where hate is a burdenFaith in humanity is not entwine The traces of you is meI am you and...

[Fiction and poetry] are medicines, they’re doses, and they heal the rupture that reality makes on the imagination.

I’m looking for youin the bare corridor where my shadow is the only passerbyharmonizing an unsettling whisper: echoed through my chiming thoughtsFrom the poem ‘Looking For You

Birthing hope from the madnessthat perches on the fenceof our once perfectdreams.

Poems are the chorus of our lives. the poet sets the words to the music of our souls. Each poem has its own rhythm that drums like a heartbeat.

Sometimes the most beautiful people are beautifully broken.

She needed the chaos within her in order to discover the extraordinary no man could ever reach.

Devil’s WishA bowl of spellsSwirls a mixSmoke and bubblesSeek the fixYoung boy’s eyeAnd fever fewWitches grassSome mandrake root

The gray sea and the long black land; And the yellow half-moon large and low: And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep, As I gain the cove with pushing...

Not words. nor laughter. but rather someonewho will fall in lovewith your silence.

O Deus Ego Amo TeOh God, I love Thee mightily,Not only for Thy saving me, Nor yet because who love not TheeMust burn throughout eternity.Thou, Thou, my Jesu, once didst meEmbrace upon the bitter Tree.For...

Fear is a hurdle that stops the expression

We will go far away, to nowhere, to conquer, to fertilize until we become tired. Then we will stop and there will be our home.

She saved all of those poems in a scrapbook, … And when I look at the scrapbook, it brings back so many memories of fights we used to have or the people we used to...

I wish I had eyes that changed colors from blue to gray, and then after I cried, to all the colors of the rainbow, because then I’d just sit in front of the mirror writing...

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la SeineEt nos amoursFaut-il qu’il m’en souvienneLa joie venait toujours après la peineVienne la nuit sonne l’heureLes jours s’en vont je demeureLes mains dans les mains restons face à faceTandis...

Ô beaux cheveux d’argent mignonnement retorsÔ beaux cheveux d’argent mignonnement retors !Ô front crêpe et serein ! et vous, face dorée !Ô beaux yeux de cristal ! ô grand bouche honorée,Qui d’un large repli retrousses...

Viceversa”Tengo miedo de vertenecesidad de verteesperanza de vertedesazones de vertetengo ganas de hallartepreocupación de hallartecertidumbre de hallartepobres dudas de hallartetengo urgencia de oírtealegría de oírtebuena suerte de oírte y temores de oírteo sea resumiendoestoy jodidoy...

Love doesn’t always mean rings and veils and walks down the aisle.Sometimes love means broken windows and broken hearts,and not being able to fix either. And sometimes love means telling you, there’s no such thing...

It’s funny, for all it took was a broken heart and that alone was enough, enough for her to do everything she ever dreamed of.