a-case-for-wonder

When they tell you you are made of stars,
do not let them forget what stars are made of.
Stars are not glitter, not stickers on the ceiling,
not there for decoration.
Stars are chunks of collapsing galaxy. They are
hundred-thousand mile wide nuclear furnaces
that consume their surroundings into death.
They are not friendly; they do not exist
to write poems about. Stars
are not made of metaphors. You
are not made of other people’s words.

When they tell you you are made of stars.
look them in the eye and remind them
that so are they, and so is the earth,
and so is the gum on the bottom of your shoes,
and so is the fist you will hit them with
the next time they try to placate you
with their condescending bullshit –

When they tell you you are different from other girls,
ask them why you should want to be.
Do not let them call you dream girl.
Do not let them trap you up on a pedestal,
surrounded by books that cannot hurt them.
Read things that can hurt them.
Your mind is a forest richer than folklore;
do not let your curiosity be reduced to an accessory.
Your intelligence is not a fashion statement.
Your existence is not a novelty.
You are not a metaphor
for someone else’s problems.

When they tell you you are made of stars,
tell them you have always known this.
Tell them you have fire in your bone marrow,
that you are burning with the deaths
of the entire universe before you.

When they tell you you are made of stars,
tell them you know.
Tell them they should keep their distance.

When They Tell You You Are Made of Stars - Melissa Victoria (via a-case-for-wonder)
exhalingcatalysts

The first time
that I fucked you
was in my mind
entirely
in my mind
which was exactly as it should be
for I was 12 years old
and would never have known
what to put where
and when
but you were a vision
all tanned legs and long curly hair
and I had to learn your name
had to learn your name
was Thyra
and the games we played
entirely
in my mind
would have made Anaïs Nin blush
even though I had no idea
who Anaïs Nin was
because I was 12, yo


The second time
that I fucked you
was in my mind
entirely
in my mind
which was exactly as it should be
for I was living with your friend
and she would have never understood
the lewd flesh sculptures we were forming
and why
but you were a vision
with your sexy smile and mischievous eyes
and I silently mouthed your name
silently mouthed your name
you, Thyra
and the lust we shared
entirely
in my mind
would have made Barry White blush
even though I’d never heard
a Barry White song
I was a punk rocker, you know


The third time
that I fucked you
was in my mind
entirely
in my mind
which was exactly as it should be
for you were living with my friend
and it would have broken his heart
to know I was seducing your body
and mind
but you were a vision
with your perfect breasts and come hither look
and I spoke your name aloud
spoke your name aloud
yes, Thyra
and the wild love we made
entirely
in my mind
would have made Ron Jeremy blush
even though I could never stand
to watch one of his movies
he’s a fat, disgusting pig, isn’t he?


The last time
that I fucked you
was in my mind
entirely
in my mind
which is exactly as it should be
for even though you’re my wife now
I still dream about you
every single night
and day
and you are a vision
with your non-judgmental love and your welcoming arms
and I scream your name with love
scream your name with love
my Thyra
and the crazy lust we’re sharing now
entirely
in my mind
is fantastic enough to make Annie Sprinkle blush
even though you have no idea
who the hell Annie Sprinkle is
you should look her up, I think

Max Mundan, The First Time (that I fucked you)

© David Rutter 2014

Follow me on twitter @dmr226

(via maxmundan)

I don’t know who Annie Sprinkle is, either…  Guess that’s okay, though as this isn’t about me!  :D  Nicely done, David!  Very nicely done!  :)

savingharoldcrick

I like quiet love.
The kind that speaks
In murmers and mumbles
Over the breakfast table.

The kind that skitters across the floor
To kiss you before they go;
The kind that lets you know
They will come back.

Love like that
Leaves the porch light on.
It reads to you aloud
When you are sick.

It is the mirrored face
Which hangs beyond the door frame
To remind you that things will be fine;
The face that never rearranges
It’s shape when it isnt.

Quiet love keeps me grounded
Without being heavy.
But when quiet love lets go of you,
You can never feel it leaving.

It does not peel itself away like paint
Chipping after too much sun—
You realize the subtleties
After it is already gone.

Lorne Ryan, Subtleties (via defense-mechanisms)