A short poem: The thing we couldn't do becomes the thing we can
By @ goodthings4blackgirls.

@illusionremember / illusionremember.tumblr.com
A short poem: The thing we couldn't do becomes the thing we can
By @ goodthings4blackgirls.
Hanif Abdurraqib, "Glamor on the West Streets / Silver Over Everything"
an ode to destiel reunion, inspired by this post
i’m blue-hot angry but still an apology sits on my tongue every other word sour and bitter like rotten fruit. like the days i was so thirsty i swallowed the milk left forgotten on the counter all week. like the nights i was so hungry i hunted beneath tree cover in the dark hoping for the glint of bone-white to crunch between my teeth.
sorry mom. sorry god. sorry my love and my love and my love and my love. sorry all the past i bit my tongue bloody and sorry for all the future where i cut my tongue out of my dirty mouth. sorry i never did the right thing. sorry i hid. sorry i ran. sorry i was lonely. sorry you had to endure and endure and endure. sorry i was so unbearable when i didn’t know how to act anymore. sorry there was nothing to be proud of.
i can’t forgive you for no longer picking up when i call. i can’t forgive you for not bothering to look and i can’t forgive you for covering yourself in sand. i can’t forgive you for making me endure and endure and endure and endure and endure and endure.
i’m blue-hot so our last words might be in anger but i’ll keep saying i’m sorry as the dead lights roll across the horizon. i’m sorry and i’m sorry and i’m sorry and i’m sorry and i’m— and i’m— and i’m—
time for sleep now. you should probably say goodnight.
Dead Poets Society (1989) dir. Peter Weir
people on here are always saying “we NEED a story where the art of storytelling is abandoned” like ugh literary devices are soo annoying like that wouldn’t happen in real life that only happened to further the story (why is there story in my story) why would orpheus turn around when he was explicitly told not to why would icarus fly so close to the sun romeo&juliet catcher in the rye why are they so earnest why pour your heart and soul into anything why bother why cant all art be quippy logical monotony like my marvel movies there’s a void in my heart bc i refused to fill it and the curtains were blue
“i hate poetry its so pretentious” but then you reblog a quote or a throwaway line and say “why does this go so hard” you are desperate for poetry you are starved for it and u dont even realise you’re hungry
A lit candle is a tiny, flickering animal standing on top of all the food it will eat in its lifetime.
A candle is a leash.
They let us tame an ancient, devouring force of nature, older than life, and stick it in a little jar on the shelf.
A candle is a pet god.
If you whisper a secret to a candle flame, then all fire everywhere will know that secret.
The words will crackle in every campfire and churn like an ocean deep in the belly of the Earth.
Fire will translate your words to smoke and ash, telling no one but the sky.
[poems from The Haunted Forest trilogy by Jarod K. Anderson]
Excerpt from Field Guide to the Haunted Forest
The Ghosts Are Here
The Haunting of Hill House (1959) by Shirley Jackson // The Haunting (1963) dir. Robert Wise // The H Word: Bringing the Horror Home (2013) by Dale Bailey // Rebecca (1938) by Daphne du Maurier // In the Aeroplane Over the Sea (1998) by Neutral Milk Hotel // The Hours (2002) dir. Stephen Daldry