John Berger, Will it be a Likeness? from The Shape of a Pocket
tumblr is so like. meaningless. just clicking around. reading lil poem fragments. reblogging things just bcuz the vibe is good. seeing the same paintings on the dash 5 times in a day. making my little 2 note posts. love it here.
—if I could remember a day when I was utterly a girl
and not yet a woman—
but I don’t think there was a day like that for me.
When I look at the girl I was, dripping in her bathing suit,
or riding her bike, pumping hard down the newly paved street,
she wears a furtive look—
and even if I could go back in time to her as me, the age I am now
she would never come into my arms
without believing that I wanted something.
— Marie Howe, from “The Girl,” in What the Living Do: Poems
My mother says I could tell a story with the scars on my skin, so I wear long sleeves and sweat through the summer. I am a girl with tragedy written all over her body and I don’t know how to stay quiet with this much blood in my mouth. I don’t know how to stay tender with skin this ragged. My grief eats me alive but he took the first bite. He started the feast and my mother took a seat at the table. I don’t know how to tell her the blood in her mouth is mine. So instead I ask her, please wash the dishes once you’re done.
— Hannah Green, from “Dinner Time.”