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Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

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first date idea:

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whats it like to lock your fingers with someone you love

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I want to come home.

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The irony staringinto your eyes

How fairy tales and folke lore all fear of turning to stone.

I'd gladly become marble

Just so I could keep this moment.

I'd wither to sand in the wind than break this.

Entranced.

Spellbound.

Enraptured.

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I wish I wasn't, such a dreamer. I've ruined this life for myself.

— N.M. Sanchez

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Hiraeth (n.)

a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

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— Billy Chapata; Flowers on the Moon

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Tell me not you aren't worthy of love, that you're not supposed to love as if we aren't the fruits of it. Darling, hundreds of other people loved each other even before we were born, only for us to see the world and fall in love. Let's not forget that.

Shayan Das

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“Falling in love with you came easily to me. It's as if my soul was already in love with you and the rest of my body was just catching.”

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'The Swan Maidens' by Walter Crane, 1894

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Limerence

I’ve heard such apt descriptions of the color red.

But never pink.

From the pinkest cheeks,

At every thought of you.

To the goosebumps,

flushing spreading across my breathless chest.

The shy tentative reach,

Like reacting into the warm sunlight.

Eyes on me,

Dream or reality?

Pink,

The color of hopeful ignorance.

The tips of noses and eyes,

As naivety meets reality.

Tentative but head long rushing,

Hoping that bungee cord doesn’t snap

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Hot sauce on an empath’s tacos

When I see you my heart jumps so far into my throat I can barely breathe.

It takes everything in me not to cough my heart into my hands, and give it to you whole when you smile.

My lungs seize when I see that dimple, and I’m not sure if my body even remembers to breathe anymore.

The insistent buzz in my veins races to every particle of my skin and I see you catch the nervousness I can’t contain.

The twitch of my lip- of the corner of my eye. The tremor in my hand when you slide yours into mine. I am laid bare. and I do not know who you are seeing

I hope it’s me

A dark gaze of pensive thought. I feel it in never ending waves- I cannot hide from you. I couldn’t even if I wanted too. Defenseless.

#my poem #poems on tumblr #spilled thoughts #spilled poetry #spilled ink #nervous #shy #poem

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He's more myself than I am ,whatever our souls are made up of , his and mine are the same

-Wuthering heights, Emily bronte

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—Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 6: 1955-1966

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ANNE HATHAWAY in MODERN LOVE 1.03 Take Me as I Am, Whoever I Am

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I carry my mothers birthmark on my thigh.

I carry my aunts birthmark-

Same places, back of the arm.

The one we share with every cousin.

Every woman in our line unbroken

Interconnected in waves of strength.

I carry eyes that only I find reflected back at me-

From my aunt and grandpa.

Three shades of grassy granite-

To countless seas of hazel and wood bark to the deepest shade so dark it looks black.

I am pieces and collages.

Maybe I’m not whole-

But in me I find a whole.

#poems #poetry #spilled ink #happy #nose piercing #pink aesthetic #poety #peace #poem #poet #new poets corner