inflatedmoose:

tinselprincyne:

tinselprincyne:

lmao i have £80 until january 

if you want a poem hit me up ill write you one for a pound 

give the love of your life a romantic poem this christmas
feed a starving artist

How can I give you monies?

agreed! tell me how I can help! I want to buy several let’s talk please

nayyirahwaheed:

she asked, 
‘you are in love,
what does love look like’
to which i replied,
‘like everything i’ve ever lost
come back to me’

     – nayyirah waheed

some nights
the senses
make more sense
than anything else

Neil Gaiman – Instructions

invincible-glitterati:

Touch the wooden gate in the wall you never

saw before.

Say “please” before you open the latch,

go through,

walk down the path.

A red metal imp hangs from the green-painted

front door,

as a knocker,

do not touch it; it will bite your fingers.

Walk through the house. Take nothing. Eat

nothing.

However, if any creature tells you that it hungers,

feed it.

If it tells you that it is dirty,

clean it.

If it cries to you that it hurts,

if you can,

ease its pain.

From the back garden you will be able to see the

wild wood.

The deep well you walk past leads to Winter’s

realm;

there is another land at the bottom of it.

If you turn around here,

you can walk back, safely;

you will lose no face. I will think no less of you.

Once through the garden you will be in the

wood.

The trees are old. Eyes peer from the under-

growth.

Beneath a twisted oak sits an old woman. She

may ask for something;

give it to her. She

will point the way to the castle.

Inside it are three princesses.

Do not trust the youngest. Walk on.

In the clearing beyond the castle the twelve

months sit about a fire,

warming their feet, exchanging tales.

They may do favors for you, if you are polite.

You may pick strawberries in December’s frost.

Trust the wolves, but do not tell them where

you are going.

The river can be crossed by the ferry. The ferry-

man will take you.

(The answer to his question is this:

If he hands the oar to his passenger, he will be free to

leave the boat.

Only tell him this from a safe distance.)

If an eagle gives you a feather, keep it safe.

Remember: that giants sleep too soundly; that

witches are often betrayed by their appetites;

dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always;

hearts can be well-hidden,

and you betray them with your tongue.

Do not be jealous of your sister.

Know that diamonds and roses

are as uncomfortable when they tumble from

one’s lips as toads and frogs:

colder, too, and sharper, and they cut.

Remember your name.

Do not lose hope — what you seek will be found.

Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped

to help you in their turn.

Trust dreams.

Trust your heart, and trust your story.

When you come back, return the way you came.

Favors will be returned, debts will be repaid.

Do not forget your manners.

Do not look back.

Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall).

Ride the silver fish (you will not drown).

Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur).

There is a worm at the heart of the tower; that is

why it will not stand.

When you reach the little house, the place your

journey started,

you will recognize it, although it will seem

much smaller than you remember.

Walk up the path, and through the garden gate

you never saw before but once.

And then go home. Or make a home.

And rest.

parallaxis

asthewhitecrowflies:

you & i we run on
beautiful parallels
creating a shape they
never taught me in
geometry class

when your lines run
along the horizon like
warm July sunsets then
i veer standing tall
& stately against
rose-tipped clouds &
a hint of summer rain

when you emerge from
your quiet sleep on
the dimpled side of our
bed awake & erect i
lean down to become
your parallel lines &
complimentary shape

karkadann: a Ghazal

with passion and fury I fly across the sands like the wind,
anger in fresh desert furrows, baring my teeth to the wind.

my skin tingles, thrilled, as I imagine his deft touch again,
but moments are not genies nor spirits; they flee like the wind.

I sweep up the dunes, hard and proud, my mane and tail streaming,
stretched out to my limits, straining towards his kisses like the wind.

never has my own kind shown me such tender ministrations,
dismissing my passion as foal’s folly, soon cleansed by the wind.

his adornments are fleeting, but my prince wields his fine sword well,
yet now I stand at the edge of the storm, defying the wind.

I am not to be called, to be caged, to be collared or chained;
try to reign me in, and I will flee like the hot desert wind.

a certain alloy of expediency improves the gold of morality and makes it wear all the longer

Don Marquis, Archy and Mehitabel