“Really, When I Look Back On It, I Did Exactly What I Had Set Out To Do. I Changed My Life. I Woke

none of my assignments are done but I sure am

To those who have swept or have blown the leaves from the walk, have rinsed the dishes or dusted their screens, Hestia looks on you from beneath her veil. She smiles, then wraps a shawl made of sunlit October air around you.

To those who remain in bed, who are on the edge of crying, who have turned on the tv to drown out the world, Hestia sits on the edge of your bed, patting circles on your back. I know, my love, she says, I know, I know. It can be so hard. My sweet, it’s time to get up. I need you, she says. Let’s make this home a sanctuary. Light a candle. Make your hands to care about this place. Let out the work of love.

five recipes for an exciting life (in my opinion)

spending enough time creating things with your hands (baking, drawing, scrapbooking, doodling, crocheting, journaling and so on)

keeping track of things like pretty skies, milestones, happy memories, appointments you're looking forward to

listening to music that genuinely makes you feel happy and energetic

making a habit of reaching out to people in a way that's comfortable to you (i send my dad songs he might like, my friend sends me monthly life updates)

being kind to all your five senses → like investing in a scented candle or essential oil dispenser or body mist, having a soft blanket or socks (or a soft animal to pet), listening to birdsong or the rain, looking at the sky more often, and having your favorite foods enough times

― Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

there is not a single day i don’t think about this quote in relation to tragedies

Reminder that if you're feeling pain due to your aspec identity, that that pain does not mean you have failed in any way or are doing yourself or anyone else a disservice by not being interested in/not being able to experience romantic/sexual relationships. Had society never drilled it into our heads that romance and sex are necessary to be happy, then I can promise you that we'd all be out here living the lives we want and enjoy without the stress of what anyone has to say about it or how anyone else sees it. It is the fault of amatonormativity/heteronormativity. It is the fault of compulsory attraction. It's never been your fault. And yes it's hard to believe and ignore anyone who would dare accuse you of being broken in any way, it's hard to ignore exclusionists sometimes, but just try to keep it in the back of your mind that you didn't do anything wrong. You never have. You are not faulty, you are not broken, you are as you were meant to be, and if you hate it right now, that's understandable. If your attraction changes at some point, that's completely fine and valid. However you are, that's perfectly normal.

"Yes, Think" – Ruth Stone

Mother, said a small tomato caterpillar to a wasp, why are you kissing me so hard on my back? You’ll see, said the industrious wasp, deftly inserting a package of her eggs under the small caterpillar’s skin. Every day the small caterpillar ate and ate the delicious tomato leaves. I am surely getting larger, it said to itself. This was a sad miscalculation. The ravenous hatched wasp worms were getting larger. O world, the small caterpillar said, you were so beautiful. I am only a small tomato caterpillar, made to eat the good tomato leaves. Now I am so tired. And I am getting even smaller. Nature smiled. Never mind, dear, she said. You are a lovely link in the great chain of being. Think how lucky it is to be born.

it astounds me even until now how i can come to this blog and go with a piece of my soul back in place. i was wondering if you had any poems on 'ghosts' and their 'haunting' people and places, romantic or otherwise. there is a ghost, you see, and she haunts me even though i know her to be alive and well. i am unsure of which terrifies me more: her being in and out of my reach or my hope that i too am her ghost.

so these are not all poems, but:

“I think ghosts are memory—memory haunts bodies, haunts places, haunts the narratives that hold our minor and miraculous lives together. Ghosts are that which return and return and return. The body has its own hauntings, too: phantom limb sensation, organ transfer memory, the traumatic self. And others.”

— Shastra Deo, interviewed by Sumudu Samarawickrama in Liminal Mag 

— Valeria Luiselli, from Faces in the Crowd (tr. Christina MacSweeney)

— Janet Fitch, from White Oleander

“But the fall—the falling / of it / even after it’s done—”

— Jorie Graham, from Overlord: Poems; “Omaha (Lowest Tide, Coefficient 105, Full Moon)”

— Jessie Lynn McMains, To Be Haunted

— Dorothy Allison, from Boston, Massachusetts (The Women Who Hate Me, 1983)

“it’s not enough to look back at the past as at a thing / to shy from, this is not / nostalgia, you must look at it,”

— Carl Phillips, from Wild is the Wind: Poems; “Gently, Though, Gentle”

— Nikki Giovanni, from “[Untitled]”

— Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost

— Adonis, from Selected Poems; “A Piece of Bahlul’s Sun” (tr. Khaled Mattawa)

—James Baldwin, from Jimmy’s Blues and Other Poems; “Conundrum (on my birthday) (for Rico)”

I saw an article called “Make Peace With Your Unlived Life” and it really made me stop and think. So much of our lives is mourning for what we didn’t become. It’s a waste. We didn’t waste any opportunities. What came and went was not meant for us.

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