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Faith’s Winter

@faiths-winter

This blog is a liminal space, having an existential crisis.
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Reblogged currentlyonstandbi
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"character doing a c+ job of breaking the cycle of abuse" is such a crunchy dynamic forever. what if i'm giving my all to give you a better life than i had and i'm succeeding but "better" just isn't quite enough. what if my blind spots and deeply ingrained trauma and inexperience mean that you will be indelibly scarred by me despite my best efforts. what if my abuser's influence still bleeds through at times because i know nothing else. what if i go so far in the opposite direction to avoid it that i hurt you in ways i couldn't have anticipated. what if my undeniable love and unforgivable shortcomings came part and parcel with each other. what if your love and gratitude and resentment and pain came part and parcel too. what if we both knew you deserved better but i was all you had. what if we had to move forward and reckon with that. what then

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late poem to my father by sharon olds. if you even care

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yeah

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Reblogged ironwoman359
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my senior year lit teacher was a sick and twisted woman for making her entire class of gifted kids analyze this poem but it still bangs (my heart) (into a thousand tiny pieces) (ow)

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Reblogged asimovsideburns
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the other day, my dad was driving and i was in the passenger seat and we were talking about, i think poetry, and we were talking about war poets and poets we like whose names we always forget, and john gillespie magee, jr. fits into both those categories for my dad

and he said “oh, what’s that one poem–does it start, something about ‘to break the bonds of earth?’ can you look that one up for me?”

“found it, i think. ‘high flight,’ john gillespie magee jr.?”

“yes! that’s it. i haven’t read that in a long time. could you read it to me?”

so i started to read it and about halfway through i started getting choked up and i knew i wasn’t going to be able to finish reading, but i managed to read all the way up through “the high untrespassed sanctity of space” before i physically couldn’t keep reading. 

it’s one of the most beautiful poems i’ve ever read, and that’s one of the reasons why i got choked up (read it out loud and see if the alliteration doesn’t get to you), but i think really the main reason was that i knew that john gillespie magee, jr., was a pilot in the royal canadian air force who was killed in world war ii when he was only 19 years old. nineteen. i am currently almost two years older than he will ever be. imagine being a freshman or sophomore in college who can write like this. imagine being that young and already having a soul this beautiful.

maybe it’s dumb, but my dad says that this poem is one of the best arguments against war he’s ever seen, all by itself. 

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Reblogged ruffboi-mags
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My love, I was so wrong. Dying is the opposite of leaving. When I left my body, I did not go away. That portal of light was not a portal to elsewhere, but a portal to here. I am more here than I ever was before. I am more with you than I ever could have imagined. So close you look past me when wondering where I am. It’s Ok. I know that to be human is to be farsighted. But feel me now, walking the chambers of your heart, pressing my palms to the soft walls of your living. Why did no one tell us that to die is to be reincarnated in those we love while they are still alive? Ask me the altitude of heaven, and I will answer, “How tall are you?” In my back pocket is a love note with every word you wish you’d said. At night I sit ecstatic at the loom weaving forgiveness into our worldly regrets. All day I listen to the radio of your memories. Yes, I know every secret you thought too dark to tell me, and love you more for everything you feared might make me love you less. When you cry I guide your tears toward the garden of kisses I once planted on your cheek, so you know they are all perennials. Forgive me, for not being able to weep with you. One day you will understand. One day you will know why I read the poetry of your grief to those waiting to be born, and they are all the more excited. There is nothing I want for now that we are so close I open the curtain of your eyelids with my own smile every morning. I wish you could see the beauty your spirit is right now making of your pain, your deep seated fears playing musical chairs, laughing about how real they are not. My love, I want to sing it through the rafters of your bones, Dying is the opposite of leaving. I want to echo it through the corridor of your temples, I am more with you than I ever was before.  Do you understand? It was me who beckoned the stranger who caught you in her arms when you forgot not to order for two at the coffee shop. It was me who was up all night gathering sunflowers into your chest the last day you feared you would never again wake up feeling lighthearted. I know it’s hard to believe, but I promise it’s the truth. I promise one day you will say it too– I can’t believe I ever thought I could lose you.

love letter from the afterlife, andrea gibson

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