Katherine Frances's Blog, page 150
September 29, 2017
"homes are not
always buildings,
places, countries.
sometimes homes
are people, with
locked doors..."
always buildings,
places, countries.
sometimes homes
are people, with
locked doors and
fences to stop
anyone from
coming in.”
- iambrillyant (via wnq-writers)
theclassicsreader:
“and i am consumed with love for all of itthe everydayness of braverythe hate of...
“and i am consumed with love
for all of it
the everydayness of bravery
the hate of fear of tragedy
of death and birth and hope
true as this river”
- Lucille Clifton, from “Sunday Morning 9/16/01”
galra-prince-lance:me, a writer, staring at one sentence for 10 minutes straight: i don’t know...
me, a writer, staring at one sentence for 10 minutes straight: i don’t know what’s wrong with you but i don’t like you
September 28, 2017
"Under the orange-tree
she washes baby-clothes.
Her eyes of green
and voice of violet."
she washes baby-clothes.
Her eyes of green
and voice of violet.”
- Federico García Lorca, from ‘Lola’ (via soracities)
"Every woman has chapters in her soul that she lets few read, deep oceans that she lets few swim in,..."
- iambrillyant (via wnq-writers)
"I. I miss you, and it’s not like I miss your face, arms, or lips. I could do without, but simply..."
I. I miss you, and it’s not like I miss your face, arms, or lips. I could do without, but simply your presence always reminded me of home, and I swear I lost that when you left. You don’t know, I’ve never felt so homeless and alone. No amount of money or possessions even compare to you. I wish you knew but
*delete*
II. You know people always text their lovers in the morning, so I bet its weird that I’m texting you in the middle of the day, drunk at three in the afternoon. Don’t judge me, but I swear this whiskey tastes like you and this empty bottle is like our love. I have practically consumed what was left of it, and there is nothing left to do but throw it at you. But you won’t catch it. Open your arms, open your heart. Please don’t leave now because
*delete*
III. I hate you, hate everything about you. I can’t stand you anymore. but I love you, and I can’t breathe, please, please, answer me, I can’t
*delete*
IV. It’s been two weeks and these 336 hours and 14 minutes have been hell. You used to shimmer like a piece of heaven, but you’ve gone and I’m fallen. And I’ve been trying to be poetic but poetry won’t bring you back to me. Spilling my heart out isn’t helping, so what do I do now, what do I do without
*delete*
V. Hey, how have you been?
*send*
”- thequiethearttalks, Four Texts I Never Sent (via wnq-writers)
I’m teaching myself.
I’m teaching myself.
tmirai:This is such an interesting dissection of a very common...
This is such an interesting dissection of a very common trope in writing female characters that I never really thought about before, but it’s so prevalent and so obvious and so fucking disgusting.
