ass ass ass assass ass
never4GET Ass ASS assassassass
(Source: pottergrangerweasly)
After the first glass of vodka
you can accept just about anything
of life even your own mysteriousness
you think it is nice that a box
of matches is purple and brown and is called
La Petite and comes from Sweden
for they are words that you know and that
is all you know words not their feelings
or what they mean and you write because
you know them not because you understand them
because you don’t you are stupid and lazy
and will never be great but you do
what you know because what else is there?
— “As Planned” by Frank O’Hara (via thejuvenilia)
(via fuckyeahpoetry)
And what is the word for knowing your bones are made of midnight? — B. Hicok (via waitingforteaagain)
(Source: valuska, via lifeinpoetry)
“I forgot to tell you, when I was in Paris I walked the streets by myself at midnight, in the rain. I thought of Woody, then I thought of you. And if that’s the closest you two will ever get, I still think you should be happy.”
—Alex
(Source: ForGIFs.com, via peetaah)
Perhaps I write for no one. Perhaps for the same person children are writing for when they scrawl their names in the snow. — Margaret Atwood (via libraryland)
(via lifeinpoetry)
“…with clean hands and feet and beefy forearms like a damn Disney prince!…” -LL
(via ohyeahchrisevans)
I believed that I wanted to be a poet, but deep down I just wanted to be a poem. — Jaime Gil de Bieda (via llenalena)
(Source: light-essence, via broodingdaisies)
I defy you, Stars
Only person who looks even my beautiful crying than not.
(Source: recycleyourbrain, via hypertonicreservoir)