"Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It’s that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that’s what the poet does."
Allen Ginsberg (via mistacellophane)
You trace tree rings on my back,
where my bark is chipped from the neighborhood bullies.
Nourish my roots. Make me grow to the sky.
You don’t know anyone at the party, so you don’t want to go. You don’t like cottage cheese, so you haven’t eaten it in years. This is your choice, of course, but don’t kid yourself: it’s also the flinch. Your personality is not set in stone. You may think a morning coffee is the most enjoyable thing in the world, but it’s really just a habit. Thirty days without it, and you would be fine. You think you have a soul mate, but in fact you could have had any number of spouses. You would have evolved differently, but been just as happy.
You can change what you want about yourself at any time. You see yourself as someone who can’t write or play an instrument, who gives in to temptation or makes bad decisions, but that’s really not you. It’s not ingrained. It’s not your personality. Your personality is something else, something deeper than just preferences, and these details on the surface, you can change anytime you like.
If it is useful to do so, you must abandon your identity and start again. Sometimes, it’s the only way.
Set fire to your old self. It’s not needed here. It’s too busy shopping, gossiping about others, and watching days go by and asking why you haven’t gotten as far as you’d like. This old self will die and be forgotten by all but family, and replaced by someone who makes a difference.
Your new self is not like that. Your new self is the Great Chicago Fire—overwhelming, overpowering, and destroying everything that isn’t necessary."
Julien Smith, The Flinch (via larmoyante)
F. Scott Fitzgerald (via fuckyeahwritersquotesandwisdom)
Virginia Woolf, Moments of Being (via introspectivepoet)
The clothesline is too loose/and all the clean towels are grazing/the dew-soaked grass
the dust on the piano is housing/lady bug funerals/since the lamp is just/too damn inviting
I lit a candle in the bathroom/and the wax spilled all over the counter
I kind of like it there/a solid puddle frozen in time
I asked my cat to pay the bills the other day/she told me to go fuck myself
I have three fresh hickeys/but the dirt under my nails stayed with me/without paying rent
I’ve been wearing the same shirt for four days/because I don’t want to tighten the clothesline.