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dear winged, by erin murphy


The opposite of water,
lighter than dried ink, thinner
than a garlic bulb’s paper

skin. The thought before
we think, echo set adrift,
white silk ribbon unraveling

on an unexpected gift.
Cacophony of moths. Fragile
as egg shells — and as strong.

The way we leave this
place. The only grace note
in our only song.

Danielle Vogel


After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises …

After a while you learn…
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.


- Jorge Luis Borges (via anemptyspace)

(Source: oofpoetry)


Depression does not always mean
Beautiful girls shattering at the wrists
A glorified, heroic battle for your sanity
Or mothers that never got the chance to say good-bye

Sometimes depression means
Not getting out of bed for three days
Because your feet refuse to believe
That they will not shatter upon impact with the floor

Sometimes depression means
That summoning the willpower
To go downstairs and do the laundry
Is the most impressive thing you accomplish that week

Sometimes depression means
Lying on the floor staring at the ceiling for hours
Because you cannot convince your body
That it is capable of movement

Sometimes depression means
Not being able to write for weeks
Because the only words you have to offer the world
Are trapped and drowning and I swear to God I’m trying

Sometimes depression means
That every single bone in your body aches
But you have to keep going through the motions
Because you are not allowed to call in to work depressed

Sometimes depression means
Ignoring every phone call for an entire month
Because yes, they have the right number
But you’re not the person they’re looking for, not anymore


- by “Alexandra” Tilton, NH (Teen Ink: November 2013 Issue)

(Source: capellinis)

In My Own Quietly Explosive Here by June Jordan


In my own quietly explosive here
all silence isolates
to kill the artificial suffocates
a hunger

Likely dying underground
in circles hold together
develop still regardless.

June Jordan
Directed by Desire: The Collected Poems of June Jordan
p. 70 

by Stephen Dobyns

"nobody can save you but
you will be put again and again
into nearly impossible
they will attempt again and again
through subterfuge, guise and
to make you submit, quit and/or die quietly
nobody can save you but
and it will be easy enough to fail
so very easily
but don’t, don’t, don’t."

Poem: Sorting Laundry [Excerpt]

If you were to leave me,
if I were to fold
only my own clothes,

the convexes and concaves
of my blouses, panties, stockings, bras
turned upon themselves,

a mountain of unsorted wash
could not fill
the empty side of the bed.

-Elisavietta Ritchie


Poem No. 3 by Sonia Sanchez (shAke loose my skin)


was not always so cheap, so little.
It came grained on my father’s back,
scrawled on the blue workshirt
like the edges of waves
fatigue had washed up,
a chart of how high
his prayers had got that day,
how hard the curses had rained down.
You could shake it
out of him, off those shirts
and taste the tired
that he was.

Susan Facknitz

No One by Ewa Lipska


I agree to this landscape
which does not exist.

The father is holding a violin.
Children are licking at the sound.

A draft
brushes the rose petals.

Then the war. We lose sight of one another.
Huddled in full sentences, words are in hiding.

An empty room
parked in the twilight
of an old apartment house.

Please leave a message,
says no one.

(Translated by Robin Davidson and Ewa Nowakowska)

(Source: )

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