How To Save Your Own Life, Erica Jong

I am holding my bloody heart out to you, my hands stained with red from holding it for so long.

and while you are not the person who ripped it out of my chest,

you are the person I am trusting to take care of it.

maybe you can put it back in for me.

it is slowly getting brighter outside.

the horror clawing at me as my eyes snap open,

terrified of images that are intangible

and cannot harm me any longer.

it is slowly getting brighter outside.

one of these days,

you will ask me to hold you,

and I will crush you in my hands.

not through any ill intent,

but out of never learning to love

and never learning the art of being gentle

The Winter, Alexandre Calame, 1851

pictures where the sea and sky are no longer distinguishable

suspended in a bubble of hiraeth

the tear frozen on my cheek

in the subzero sunlight,

my home is a person,

and they are too far from me

i know what i want now

i didn’t before

i want cold mornings and leaves that crunch under our feet.

I want warm blankets.

I want a house in the woods.

I want clean air and sunshine and my own means of living.

a hand to hold, someone to confide in

I want to be loved; but I most of all,

I want to be loved by you.

hii ik we don’t interact much, but i just want to say that i love seeing u pop up in my notifs !

i also really love ur poetry. i totally resonate w the emotions being conveyed :^) please don’t ever stop writing !!! <3

❤️ aww, thank you! the support is really appreciated! much love to you as well!!

on the two angels that visited me at work

matching white coats, dirty from being on earth too long; a kaleidoscope of color inside the younger one’s hood

they are mean to each other, but that’s just how angels are. it’s all they know. the taller one rolls its eyes— all of them— every time the younger one can’t make up xer mind. the younger calls it a slur in a language no one can speak.

more than a few dollars short for the wire cutters and sealant they need, so I hand them a twenty.

the taller one insists it doesn’t know me, I don’t see how that matters, so I tell it, “it’s a gift.”

but the word “gift” feels like the word “offering”

a last ditch attempt to appease a god who ignored me all my life

maybe this is a last piece; a last peace, a treaty.

and echoes in my mind whisper:

“be kind to strangers

lest they be angels in disguise”

hiiiii i know this is really stupid and idk if u even remember what we became mutuals for (frankenstein. i think) but ive always loved ur poetry since the day i knew that u posted that stuff but ive been too shy to say anything of it cuz i do gen admire ur writing like A Lot. i also just realised somehow i havent reblogged any of ur writing at all so. Let Me Amend That

i'm not usually this awkward talking to people i swear 😭😭 im good at talking to ppl i admire and shoot a compliment very quickly but it's like. idk i just Really like ur poetry

omg! I should really write some more soon I’ve just been so busy 😭 we should talk Frankenstein sometime though!