"I don’t give a damn what men find attractive. It’s unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same"
Pulp Fiction, 1994
My spirit animal.
Kurt, Courtney, & Frances in their seattle home.
Wake up the moon.
Send her hurtling towards the ocean
until she emerges orange and burning over the water.
Break the earth’s eardrums.
Scream so loud the sky bleeds.
Stomp your feet until the ground
moves from underneath you.
Make it take you somewhere
without a fist.
Do not let the sun fall asleep
until you have found your own.
When it all finally goes quiet,
listen for peace.
Run your hands along the silence
until you find an open wound, then
see if it matches your own.
When your eyes close and you
still feel it, set fire to the stars.
One day, this will be easier.
One day, you won’t have to do this.
Until then, be loud.
Scare the ghosts out of the sky. Caitlyn Siehl, On Healing (via vapourise)
NORM AROE CES // TEL AVIV, ISRAEL 2013
greet the morning
i have never seen anyone fuck up this masterfully
Girl Portrait. Acrylic on Wood Panel, 12 x 12”, 2014.
I wake up and taste poetry in my mouth,
and that’s how I know I have
been dreaming about you again.
There are a thousand planets living in between
your eyelashes alone,
but I promise not to love you like you are my universe.
It would be dishonest,
and you probably deserve better than that.
My mother keeps asking me
why I’m peeling my lips away
to get rid of a name
I’ve never kissed,
and I still don’t have an answer for her yet.
I stopped playing piano in the seventh grade
when my hands started shaking so badly,
I thought they were drunk.
I look for you in raining sunsets
and flowers on other girl’s doorsteps
and I can’t tell if you are there or not.
I have never asked anyone to stay before,
but that doesn’t mean
I don’t cry when they leave.
I spend a lot of time writing
to people who can’t remember
the color of my eyes,
and maybe I should keep things
like that to my self.
We aren’t meant to be together
in this lifetime,
so we’ll have to try again
in the next one.
You have to promise me you’ll
because I don’t think I can
lose you like this again.
There’s only so much poetry
I can write about your hands
before I start to forget
what your love line looks like
and where it leads to.
I’ve been telling myself this whole
time that it was leading to me.
Maybe I’ve been wrong.
Please tell me I’m not wrong.
curled up like a question mark
come and answer me
Rosamund Pike, Hitchcock Blonde 2003