I barely finish my cigarette.
I mean that I don’t, that something
doesn’t taste right about killing myself—
not like this, not so slowly.
Blood on the inside never quite as good
as blood on the outside.

I set my laptop on the bed, still resting
on the shoe box I use in place of a desk.
I bought those boots on sale to kick
somebody’s ass with when I go back
to where you loved me, where you
slept with her but dreamt of a girl
with no accent, of her playing jazz,
of how she’d turn your body into
a shiny brass instrument & then
blow hard on your heart.

Floral printed combat gear
is funny to me— like the punchline.

See, it’s hilarious. I mean the pain is:
someone doubled over, someone taken
by surprise, someone hit in the nuts,
someone’s lover gone dumb, someone
always in denial, a heart broken in church.

It’s the running joke.

Look, this is my birthday & I’m not
expecting you to come to the party,
I just want you to tell your dad hi for me.
Tell him that someone is aging at the same
rate as he is, tell him that someone else
knows how much it hurts to love his son.

Moriah Pearson, the birthday poem 

Poetry lovers, help me!

mooneyedandglowing:

I don’t know what poetry books to buy!

So far I’ve decided on:

Crush by Richard Siken

& the forthcoming book,

Prelude to Bruise by Saeed Jones

I want to get at least two more & I have had a few good suggestions, but I want to hear some others! Gimmie, gimmie, please!

Edit: I own everything Sylvia Plath wrote that you can buy. Bukowski is good, but I’d rather buy currently alive & working poets at the moment, so that also answers the Neruda suggestion who I’ve read a bunch by as well & love, same goes for a lot of the other dead poets mentioned. I either already own their collections or have read enough by them through other means. I would really rather financially contribute to someone who is currently on the scene. I love Write Bloody Publishing & own The Bones Below by Sierra DeMulder (who is a favorite poet of mine), but right now I’m looking for stuff outside of the genre WBP typically publishes. I love Clementine’s work, but she also falls under the spoken word genre which isn’t quite what I’m in the mood for lately even though I do like it. Beau Sia is a slam poet himself, so it’s also probably not what I’m looking for at the moment, but I’ll check him out since I haven’t heard of him. Sharon Olds is cool but not sure if I want to buy a book of hers now or not. I’ve never heard of Jennifer Militello, so I’ll look her up & any other names I didn’t recognize. Anyone else have any other suggestions? Bonus points for LGBT poets or poets that belong to any other minority group.

She was free in her wildness. She was a wanderess, a drop of free water. She belonged to no man and to no city.

Roman Payne, The Wanderess (via floranymph)

(via 0aklungs)

There are so many rooms inside her
& just as many locked doors, but sometimes

when the silence snaps shut, she hears the soft
thud. Another body falling onto the white

marble floor of her sleep. All night they fall.
She doesn’t remember when the bodies started

disappearing from their lives & arriving
inside her, gagged & hooded, but she wakes

a little heavier each morning, a night’s worth
of bullet casings tangled in her hair.

The King just now easing back
into bed beside her.

Saeed Jones, “Scheherazade Sleeps Through the Executions” (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)

unclerucksnorelation asked:

Happy Birthday! I'm kind of late...I haven't been on tumblr a whole lot lately. Doesn't mean I can't still wish it to you. I bought your book so you're socially obligated to post this with a cute response GIF (or a complete non sequitur, I'm a sucker for those). Now please no requests for a birthday-themed parody song, I'm very busy!

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You also get pictures of me with my new kitten, Sylvia (as in Plath)!

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Really, thank you so much! When you get my book & read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts! xx

(yes, I used this as an excuse to show off my kitten, I’m sorry. It’s dark in my room so she looks like a tiny shadow monster)

sleepless poet thoughts

I hoard everything I write that I think is good (I’m just like every other writer in that I hate most of the things I write. We’re all our own worst critics, cliche, etc, cliche). It’s not greed, at least not mostly greed. It’s just that I’m always terrified it’ll be the last good thing I ever do. I really need to get better at discerning what to give away & what to save for manuscripts, what is me just stretching & what is me in the middle of the marathon. I need more content on here, but my standards keep rising, but then I put in too much work to not want to throw it at a journal or contest or some other look at me crap & then the poem is suddenly my child & I’m an over-protective mother snarling in some corner & chewing wildly on my ego, second-guessing everything.

I swear, getting back into lit poetry has me going mad, but I love the madness, the secret little poems. It’s as if I’m carrying on some frenetic affair. It’s as if I’m worried my husband will find out I touched her under the table or see the shapes of bodies in the sawdust in the writing room. It’s as if I’m an alcoholic & I only want to share it with strangers.

I wanted permanence.
I wanted to make it stick,
& then & then & then
I wanted to swallow coal,
to unlearn a language
eight years in the making,
to wonder about the habits
of owls, the fleeting winters,
which, so much like love, take time
to freeze over & thaw, that life cycle
of resentment, the way rebirth
bites the tail of death, how now
it is her & not me to be the last
woman you will love, your final
prayer, that softer sunset.
Her— the silent clock ticking
away your life & now I want
only to see you make it count,
to forget the way my sleeping
form once had the power
to loosen your lips, the power
to make your green eyes flow
blue & wildly— awash with tears.

Moriah Pearson, what I want  

(via mooneyedandglowing)

Birthday Post

I wanted to give a shout out to everyone that follows me & supports me. Huge thanks go out to my friends, family, fans, the Tumblr Writing Community, & the men & women in my life that’ve made my birthday turn from something sad into something amazing. At midnight I was crying & telling my first love how alone I felt as he tried to scramble about to comfort my heart & then things started to change. I started to get texts, Tumblr messages, things on Facebook, Whatsapp messages, & spent the night & early sunrise hours on the phone with someone who’s incredibly sexy to me (he kills my brain. unf). Then I had a wonderful lunch with my family where everyone was in an amazing mood. After that my brother called me & we got to chat for a while about poetry & gardening & computers since I was able to afford to buy myself a new laptop. I also got lots of presents from people, which is so lovely (my amazing boss sent me a unicorn shirt & 4 packs of Indonesian clove cigarettes).

You all should give me some recommendations on books to buy with my Amazon gift card. I want to drown in poetry.

Then I came home & saw even more love from you guys who seriously keep me going on the days where I feel like there’s nothing left for me in this world (you will never know much I adore & appreciate this community). I was also able to catch up with my favorite Scottish bloke & set up an overdue Skype session for when he gets back from his travels soon.

My piece on my experience loving a sociopath is something I’m going to postpone putting up on here for a couple days due to the fact that I’m really happy & don’t want to think about what he did to me. Reliving covert emotional manipulation & outright deception was never a good idea for today in the first place.

I still have lots of messages in my inbox wishing me a happy birthday & I’ll respond to you guys tomorrow once I wake. I’m running low on sleep because somebody cute kept me up all night. Heh. Just know that I appreciate how lovely all of you are & believe in the ability each & every one of you hold within yourselves to accomplish your dreams & live amazing lives. <33