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The mid morning sun is gentle and pleasant. I pass by the softest pink and purple flowers that quiver meekly at the periphery of my brutish eyes. I’m aware…but there’s a hole in my tongue, for I cannot name them nor the soft flutter of birds that startle me halfway down the block. Harsher words have too long colonized my mind. I think of the fires in the streets last night and the righteous burning of prisons and the flares that lit up the distant mountainsides like angry dragons. Maybe one day. Today it’s still a war zone here.



Taka Maruno Made Ardika | Sunny Morning Lee Eng Beng
wednesday is me: a bored ghost dropping lit candles into the trashcan. people buying my bones for nothing. wednesday is the pier i stood on after you suggested that i should drown. wednesday is a man screaming off of it.

John Mortara, “wednesday,” published in
Big Lucks (via bostonpoetryslam)

(via mermaidsbite)

It seemed like they
Had always
Been [kissed]

Too much;
Not enough.

Pendulum for the Swing



Wilfredo Prieto | One | 2008

"There is one real diamond among the thousands of crystals in this installation […] which is a commentary on the systems that create value. You only know the diamond is there because the label tells you so."
"Do you think there’s really a diamond in there?""I don’t know. Artists lie."
little ditty about jack and diane


may drive excellence
or may cause 
participants to become
small, stingy, suspicious,

while exhausting
coming in fits
starts, surrounds, syncs 

You’re a little taller

When you wake

Because dreams help you grow.

Snooze Alarm