theatomy:

“Where the Hero is Always Late”
from the Hero Poems
by Wendy Xu

…

It begins with your name in a wave-swelled jar
throwing up salt. And the ocean, so sick of looking at you
all night rocking you in its arms, chooses an island

and calls it port. What did you ever know
of annulment? Of casting a wide net and hating
what’s pulled in? No temperamental stars

to guide you, back home no faithful wife with hair
blooming a glossy raven

each night onto your pillow. You’ve imagined her often
after days of swimming, at the window
before dawn peeling a sunburn

from her skin. This is what heroes know nothing about.
There is only the storm.
The morning, too. 

when clouds block the sun in a thick overcast, I can still see the bright green tips of a growing hedge. Life just keeps going, you know?

storyboss:

Everyone knew how everyone else should behave.

To answer your question, it’s like believing in God. Like a born-again believes in God, with the devotion of the rescued for the savoir after years of addiction and living at the bottom of a rut. I am born again. I have new eyes and a new heart, and when I looked upon the world again, I saw the truth. Love is all around us. I can’t see it or feel it for myself, but I have to believe love exists - if only as an unknown. I blindly put every ounce of faith I have into love, hoping life keeps its promise that someday I’ll be delivered into its grace. There are nights when love doesn’t make sense, when doubt creeps up from the shadows to whisper in my ear, but with all my uncertainty, I still find myself falling to my knees and begging for it. I wail and rage, cursing at the powers that be one second only to sob for forgiveness and redemption the next. I have to believe I can love, be loved; I have to. I lived for so long without this faith, and so I know I can’t go on living without it now. Heaven sounds like a dream, but love feels like a destination. I hope to see you there.

I think the worst part is when I’m not busy. Like, if my brain isn’t focusing in on a task, it slips through my fingers and I just fucking lose it - my mind, that is. It’s a greased up pig and it’s making me look like fool, flailing and stumbling all over the place just trying to get ahold of it. And I’ll cry for no reason, but that might just be the wicked Aunt Rose tugging at my emotions like a mad puppeteer. But the greasy brain, I don’t believe that’s a symptom of hormonal changes. That’s the worst part - yes, I change my mind - THAT is the fucking worst.

My grandmother died floating on a plastic raft in her above ground pool. I think about that every time I sit on my porch, in the far right corner where the sun always hits. I close my eyes and just bathe in it, thinking about how her heart stopped beating in a moment just like this one.

What do we do?

sirmitchell:

“Dream Come True”

The entire collection from “Just Like Us” is now online at Gallery1988.com, where you can purchase prints & originals. This print is sold out, but there are quite a few others left.

vintageanchor:

As I Walked Out One Evening   by W. H. Auden

As I walked out one evening,
   Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
   Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
   I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
   'Love has no ending.

'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
   Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
   And the salmon sing in the street,

'I'll love you till the ocean
   Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
   Like geese about the sky.

'The years shall run like rabbits,
   For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
   And the first love of the world.'

But all the clocks in the city
   Began to whirr and chime:
'O let not Time deceive you,
   You cannot conquer Time.

'In the burrows of the Nightmare
   Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
   And coughs when you would kiss.

'In headaches and in worry
   Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
   To-morrow or to-day.

'Into many a green valley
   Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
   And the diver's brilliant bow.

'O plunge your hands in water,
   Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
   And wonder what you've missed.

'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
   The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
   A lane to the land of the dead.

'Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
   And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
   And Jill goes down on her back.

'O look, look in the mirror,
   O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
   Although you cannot bless.

'O stand, stand at the window
   As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
   With your crooked heart.'

It was late, late in the evening,
   The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
   And the deep river ran on.