2/6/22
lament for Daphne
is this freedom, Daphne? Apollo takes your body now for his own use—your leaves his crown, your timber his lyre-material. when you begged your father for escape, did you expect your feet to stick in the soil? deliverance not from, but to, as you are anchored to the earth ripe tor your pursuer's plucking. you are made a holy symbol of the man-god who drove you to this desperate transformation. even now you do not belong to yourself. is this the freedom you prayed for, Daphne? Eros and Apollo and Penaeus your father all playing their games at the cost of your life, and you now without eyes to weep over your fate; without leaves that can drop in protest. I will sit in your evergreen shade, Daphne, and sing the songs you can no longer remember.
13 notes
·
View notes
I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly.
14K notes
·
View notes
The greatest gift you can give another is the purity of your attention.
Richard Moss
410 notes
·
View notes
The greatest gift you can give another is the purity of your attention.
Richard Moss
195 notes
·
View notes
The greatest gift you can give another is the purity of your attention.
Richard Moss
376 notes
·
View notes
Don't you ever give up hope. Not today. Not tomorrow. You were born with an infinite imagination. If one dream is shattered, pick up the pieces you can and create a new dream. Yes, reinventing yourself takes grit. But you've got that too.
Margaret B. Moss
544 notes
·
View notes
ten short hymns representing a doomed sense of being
i. look at your hands. you are the weapon, you always have been.
ii. o my swineherd, o my swine. this is boyhood and they will kill you with it. it is not yours to begin with, you have to fight for it. you fight for it to be turned against and you know why. you crave difference.
iii. you are not soft, you are not strong either. have you ever seen a fossil? you are an imprint of what you used to be.
iv. all my wounds say the same thing. they tell me this is not how it should be. all my bandages keep them quiet and insist this is how it is.
v. i died in a flood many years ago.
vi. i am a girl falling asleep on the bus. i am the dying dog recognizing his master.
vii. i hurt my back doing a handstand and felt my teeth ache.
viii boyhood is ugly, i crave it. i crave it revoltingly, i sob into my bedsheets and wish i could tear out my flesh from where it doesn’t belong. i am desperate.
ix. i want to hold my friends. i want to have more friends. i do not want to scare people. i would rather scar myself than scare people.
x. let me be soft, lord. my soul is going to eat me someday. until then, let me be soft.
363 notes
·
View notes
The greatest gift you can give another is the purity of your attention.
Richard Moss
232 notes
·
View notes
The greatest gift you can give another is the purity of your attention.
Richard Moss
56 notes
·
View notes
There's no charm to life and its trinkets anymore
So we hold on to objects
No matter how hard the rust shows
Nobody is interesting enough for us anymore
That's why we give our eyes to random people
for a temporary high and leave them dry
stuck in a performance
Doing the same dance until it's unbearable to even themselves
The one thing that is immune to all of this
Is mystery
The world will never get tired of that
It's something we all can posses
That change can't alter
That time can't touch
That we will never truly understand
Mystery is an immortal charm
23 notes
·
View notes
{3.24.22}
Your words slice away at the heart of a thing until it sits undisguised
Bleeding softly on the kitchen table into puddles of ink
And I touch my chest to know that my heart still beats
Still beats intact though it feels like so many ribbons
Curled around a kernel of
A kernel of steadfast, stubborn
Resistance
—
Multicolored
Cold glass marble
Smooth from my restless fingers probing
Probing to ensure no cracks have formed in this
This nonconductive core concealed in my flesh
And I pray a whispered terror-filled prayer
To a God I'm not quite sure can hear me: “don't let me lose control”
—
Shards of broken borosilicate slip between unpinned ribbons
Fall musically to the floor revealing fault lines
Intrinsic to the tense color-covered sphere
Held as though it were a power cell and not
And not an insulator
Barring electricity
Keeping me cold
And quiet and still
And still and still here
Patterns unconfined and blooming bright
Among shards of glass and ink and blood
And a certainty sounding clear as chimes
There is something good beyond what’s broken
—
The heart of a thing lying between us
The truth of a thing held in hearts aching for closeness
And slow mornings and warm evenings
The drowsy contentment rooted in sureness
And hearts left open on the kitchen table
Whittling at a definition of “home” that breathes
Soft as your lips on my cheek
Your words slice away at the heart of a thing until it sits undisguised
Bleeding softly on the kitchen table into puddles of ink
And I touch my chest to know that my heart still beats—
It does—and the thing on the table sits newborn and clarified
Gently peeled and shining fresh—and familiar
3 notes
·
View notes
Don't you ever give up hope. Not today. Not tomorrow. You were born with an infinite imagination. If one dream is shattered, pick up the pieces you can and create a new dream. Yes, reinventing yourself takes grit. But you've got that too.
Margaret B. Moss
68 notes
·
View notes
The greatest gift you can give another is the purity of your attention.
Richard Moss
263 notes
·
View notes
Photographer - Tim Walker: model - Kate Moss
The Floating Poem, Unnumbered
Whatever happens with us, your body
will haunt mine—tender, delicate
your lovemaking, like the half-curled frond
of the fiddlehead fern in forests
just washed by sun. Your traveled, generous thighs
between which my whole face has come and come—
the innocence and wisdom of the place my tongue has found there—
the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth—
your touch on me, firm, protective, searching
me out, your strong tongue and slender fingers
reaching where I had been waiting years for you
in my rose-wet cave—whatever happens, this is.
Adrienne Rich
18 notes
·
View notes
The greatest gift you can give another is the purity of your attention.
Richard Moss
169 notes
·
View notes