Today darling I am rising
from the lavender bathtub
of self-loathing. I don’t take drugs
to shut up I take off
my pants when I get home
and I stay there, red cup full
of cigarettes from heaven, ghosts
of all my friends between my toes.
I imagine them pouring vodka all over
each other wearing glitter.
The vision is closing in like a tight dress.

Morgan Parker, from “Other People’s Comfort Keeps Me Up At Night,” published in The Offending Adam (via bostonpoetryslam)

javeliner:

think about the concept of a library. that’s one thing that humanity didn’t fuck up. we did a good thing when we made libraries

I never liked the ending either. More love streaming out the wrong way, and I don’t want to be the kind that says “the wrong way”. But it doesn’t work, these erasures, this constant refolding of the pleats.
There were some nice parts, sure, all lemondrop and mellonball, laughing in silk pajamas and grains of sugar on the toast, love love or whatever, take a number. I’m sorry it’s such a lousy story.

Richard Siken, Litany In Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out (via trouble-speak)

For the dinner table.
For the men who have made you
believe that you are some place that can be left.
You move like a thief in a jewelry store,
always poised for an alarm, for
a mistake, and I don’t know how
to tell you that the diamonds are already yours.
For the coffee mug with your name on it.
For the yoga mat in the closet
that is forgetting your hands.
I want to be with you in the place where you have not made yourself small,
in the place where you still love my poetry and don’t smile like surrender.
For the home in your throat.
For your ankles.
For the prayer in your teeth.
I love you like freedom.
I love you like there is no room for anything else.
I love you like straight spine.
I wish you would stand up and meet me there.

Caitlyn Siehl, For the Dinner Table (via alonesomes)