And since I am in such rare good humor (or at least not absolutely desperate, or...– The Assault by Reinaldo Arenas
So many people are confused about their sexuality...
Thank you. I honestly don’t like to label my sexuality. I know what I would say if someone asked and really wanted to know, but I just don’t feel the need to box myself into one or the other (or the other or the other, etc).
A poem just for me?
The boy wrote me a poem. No one has ever done that before. And he finished it tonight, a night that’s been rough. He skyped me for the last couple of hours—made me feel better, made me laugh, and with his poem, he made me cry. I’m lucky. I know that. And in spite of the fact that my head is still congested from crying, I’m pretty happy.
Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall, She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens, And she is dying piece-meal To a sort of emotional anæmia. And round about there is a rabble Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor. They shall inherit the earth. In her is the end of breeding. Her boredom is exquisite and excessive. She would like some one to speak to...
I'm on a poetry kick.
Bear with me.
As One, Creaking, Carries His Enormous Head...
Something is falling: it may be a satellite, it may be the temperature. It may be the light falling lightly among the rushes as I walked last fall along the river’s pitch though the river’s just a rhetoric & full of the wasp-like winding of cars & the rushes just a busy-ness, a business, by which I mean the way “something is falling” steps in as apology for...
I know what it’s like to want to die. How it hurts to smile. How you try to fit...– Susanna Kaysen - Girl, Interrupted. (via nivekelttil)