(Source: cresusjhist, via weepling)
Running dreams: a cricket sings
by Sean Svoboda
There’s a cricket inside our room
but I’m trying to sleep and shouldn’t
think about cricket legs
how it used to be
running real fast
in a cornfield your perspective changes
faster and faster
the rows of corn sprout legs longer,
much longer than your own
just watch them hop from one row to the next
velocity put to melody that
winged beasts sing for
fickle corn-ears…
soon, the memory drift’d asleep.
13\09\2011\south bohemia
I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.
― Sylvia Plath
Karen O is out of her awesome mind.
Inside us all is a wild thing.
Young
A thousand doors ago when I was a lonely kid in a big house with four garages and it was summer as long as I could remember, I lay on the lawn at night, clover wrinkling over me, the wise stars bedding over me, my mother's window a funnel of yellow heat running out, my father's window, half shut, an eye where sleepers pass, and the boards of the house were smooth and white as wax and probably a million leaves sailed on their strange stalks as the crickets ticked together and I, in my brand new body, which was not a woman's yet, told the stars my questions and thought God could really see the heat and the painted light, elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.
-RIP Anne Sexton
Time passes faster now as I grow up to blow away.
(Source: vaginablood, via loveyourchaos)
Pozor!
I used to turn like a wheel on the grass
to embrace that in fact, I felt happiness.
Until one day I watched
a boy take a powerful turn
that snapped his limb in half.
I tried to turn my thoughts away,
but I was silent out & in,
except for the reverberating sound
of that break in his pretzeled leap.
Winter is coming.
