what happened and what it meant

:-: it is here where she must begin to tell her story :-:
Love, it will not betray you, dismay or enslave you, it will set you free. Remember this.

“bring me your malice
your angry, your spiteful
tie them in a knot tightly
and leave them at my door
bring me your drunk, your stubborn
your clenched fist
I will bring you mine
bring me your impatience
your stranger, your ghosts
wring out the silent screams
soaking your pillow
bring them to me
bring them all to me
you do not have to
repent for the parts of you that
don’t see the daylight
you do not have to burn your old self
to the ground just to make room
for me
bring me your bad, your worst, your loneliest
I will kiss them each where it hurts
if it does not help
I will turn the other cheek
I will put out the fire
bring me your rickety bridge
your 400 foot fall if it breaks
I am not afraid of you
I am not afraid of you
I am not afraid of you”

– Offering | Caitlyn Siehl  (via alonesomes)

“this bridge has claimed more lives that any other.
What is his spine?
the color of the sky just before a storm open mouth kisses the ground.
What are his eyes?
these are the last words of a dying love.
What is “Please don’t call”?
in 1915 a woman screams this as she burns her bed.
What is “this was always how it was going to end”?
his mouth is this.
What is home?
this place is a black hole.
What is his apartment?
according to the bible, God made the earth in how many days?
What is seven days?
God made this when he made light.
What is us?
a man dies in the trenches in 1943. what is the last thing he writes down?
What is “I’m sorry. I want to come home. Please let me. The world is all mud without you”?”

Jeopardy | Caitlyn Siehl  (via alonesomes)

Yesterday, I ate a pomegranate
with my bare hands.
One of the seeds
had a perfect
puncture
wound, spitting red juice
up my arm.

For a moment,
I could understand
the grace in monsters.

– Benjamin Clime, “Pomegranate I.” (via oofpoetry)

“Sometimes it’s enough just to say
their names like a rosary, ordinary names
linked by nothing but the fact
that they belong to men who loved you.”

– Kim Addonizio (via oofpoetry)

“And the night smells like snow.
Walking home for a moment
you almost believe you could start again.
And an intense love rushes to your heart,
and hope. It’s unendurable, unendurable.”

– Franz Wright, closing lines to “Night Walk” from God’s Silence (via oofpoetry)

Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.

Here I love you.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.

– Pablo Neruda, from “Here I Love You” (via oofpoetry)

noiseymusic:

Fuck You, I’m From Texas
"If you ain’t from Texas this ain’t the place to be because we’re burning this motherfucker down!” shouted Doughbeezy, the otherwise relentlessly friendly Houston rapper, at a recent show. He looked out over the crowd before him with the steady, combative gaze of a practiced performer. He was playing a larger, South-centric showcase called “Welcome to tha South” at South by Southwest, a time when the music industry as a whole fills Austin with the desperate sprawl of corporate sponsorship and mindless networking. Despite the presence of outsiders, there was a surplus of UT burnt ochre and hands throwing up the state’s longhorn symbol. And a lot of people seemed to know his songs. Like, maybe more than for Que or Ty Dolla $ign, artists on the bill with national radio hits. Most of the people there might have been from Texas—a mixed blessing given the setting.
Continue

noiseymusic:

Fuck You, I’m From Texas

"If you ain’t from Texas this ain’t the place to be because we’re burning this motherfucker down!” shouted Doughbeezy, the otherwise relentlessly friendly Houston rapper, at a recent show. He looked out over the crowd before him with the steady, combative gaze of a practiced performer. He was playing a larger, South-centric showcase called “Welcome to tha South” at South by Southwest, a time when the music industry as a whole fills Austin with the desperate sprawl of corporate sponsorship and mindless networking. Despite the presence of outsiders, there was a surplus of UT burnt ochre and hands throwing up the state’s longhorn symbol. And a lot of people seemed to know his songs. Like, maybe more than for Que or Ty Dolla $ign, artists on the bill with national radio hits. Most of the people there might have been from Texas—a mixed blessing given the setting.

Continue

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too high in here and I can’t turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless:
I am living. I remember you.

– Marie Howe, “What the Living Do” (via oofpoetry)

I have named you queen.
There are taller than you, taller.
There are purer than you, purer.
There are lovelier than you, lovelier.

But you are the queen.
When you go through the streets
No one recognizes you.
No one sees your crystal crown, no one looks
At the carpet of red gold
That you tread as you pass,
The nonexistent carpet.

And when you appear
All the rivers sound
In my body, bells
Shake the sky,
And a hymn fills the world.

Only you and I,
Only you and I, my love,
Listen to it.

– Pablo Neruda, “The Queen” (via oofpoetry)

latenightcornerstore:

Now that the redness has gone away, I thought I would post a picture of my new tattoo! And what better place to put a picture of my poetry tattoo than on my poetry blog. The line is taken from one of Caitlyn’s beautiful poems.

Sorry the pictures are a little blurry—taking selfies of your ribs is slightly complicated.

“I want you everywhere, by my side and between my thighs.
I want your flowers in my hair and your name under my nails.
I want you with me, your sugar in my tea, my eyelashes on your sheets.
Write your name on me, when my heart breaks, I want it to be blinding.”

– Du, J.M. (via coffeeqveen)