Mother says there are locked rooms inside all women;
kitchen of lust, - bedroom of grief,
-bathroom of apathy.
Sometimes the men - they come with keys,
and sometimes,
the men- they come with hammers.
~Warsan Shire
“There are some hungers that increase when you feed them until they are wild things, living at the edges of your skin like wolves outside a village waiting for a sweet mouthful of red riding hood.”
She said: when will we meet?
I said: A year after the war ends
She said: When will the war end?
I said: When we meet.
— Mahmoud Darwish
I offer you my mouth—
Let me marry my lips to the tops of your thighs,
I kneel between your legs.
I offer you my hands—
Your name written all over my palms,
the fingers I press against you.
I offer you my hips—
My apologetic body.
~ A. Chantelle
I am a forest, and a night of dark trees:
but he who is not afraid of my darkness,
will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.
~Friedrich Nietzsche
Everyone can’t
be a lamplighter.
Someone must
be the lamp,
and someone
must, in bereaved
rooms sit,
unfathoming what
it is to be lit.
~Andrea Cohen
“In this story, the fish falls in love with the hook.
After all, who couldn’t admire that shine?
I know what it’s like to love what ruins you, it’s so easy to confuse your destruction as fate.”
~Schuyler Peck
The saddest word in the whole wide world is the word almost.
He was almost in love.
She was almost good for him.
He almost stopped her.
She almost waited.
He almost lived.
They almost made it.
~Nikita Gill
On the other side of night
love is possible
-take me there-
Lead me among sweet substances
which every day vanish from your memory
Alejandra Pizarnik
It is night and she is lonelyIt is night and she is lonely
and I am lonely like her,
between her candle and mine are two empty tables
in this winter restaurant.
Nothing disturbs the silence between us
She doesn't see me when I catch her plucking a rose
from her breast and I don't see her when she catches me
sipping a kiss from my wine…
She doesn't crumble her bread and I don't spill water
on the paper tablecloth.
Nothing disturbs the serenity between us
She is alone and I am alone with her beauty. Why doesn't
frailty bring us together? I ask myself: Why not
taste her wine? She doesn't see me as I watch her
crossing her legs and I don't see her watch me
when I remove my coat. Nothing of me disturbs her
and nothing of her disturbs me, we're in harmony
with forgetfulness…
Our supper, each of us alone, is delicious.
Night's voice is blue, I'm not alone
and she's not alone as we listen together
to its crystal.
Nothing disrupts our night.
She doesn't say:
Love is born a living creature
and becomes an idea.
And I don't say:
Love has become an idea…
But it seems to be so.
~Mahmoud Darwish