36 MORE Life Changing Poems Everyone Should Read

myshoesuntied:

I told my friend Anne Marie that I could come up with a list of 36 poems everyone should read to rival Buzzfeed’s list, which was great, but I felt was missing a few important names. 36 names to be exact. Here are 36 heart-polishing poems. 36 atmosphere-shattering poems. 36 poems I love by 36 poets I love. This list is not exhaustive, & by no means should these poems be the only one read of each poet. 

Enjoy! HAPPY POETRY MONTH Y’ALL

1. Jeremy Radin, “Moon Wasps

2. Russ Woods, “City Girl

3. Heather Christle, “Pursuits

4. Anis Mojgani, “When We Were Geese

5. Annelyse Gelman, “Heart

6. Sierra DeMulder, “The Genius Goes to Church

7. Karen Finneyfrock, “The Owl Cycle

8. Aracelis Girmay, “Elegy

9. Danez Smith, “sideshow

10. Lesley Yalen, “The Problem of People

11. Jamaal May, “There Are Birds Here

12. Cassandra de Alba, “The Bears

13. John Mortara, “Every Night I Call the Cops On Myself

14. Franny Choi, “Bird Watching

15. Saeed Jones, “Thallium

16. Rachel McKibbens, “A Child Without Arms Running Through a Field

17. Angel Nafis, “Angel’s Heart Clowns the Ocean

18. Brennan Bestwick, “Surname Nasa

19. Tracy K. Smith, “Don’t You Wonder, Sometimes?”

20. Rob Sturma, “Christopher Robin’s Breakup Note

21. Nikki Finney, “Cattails

22. Caroline Crew, “The Weather Radio

23. Kevin Young, “from Book of Hours

24. Rebecca Lindenberg, “Litany

25. Shanny Jean Maney, “I Love Science

26. Farrah Field, “Consciousness Enlarges in an Untoward Present

27. Airea D. Matthews, “Hero(i)in

28. Fatima Asghar, “He Huffed and He Puffed

29. Megan Falley, “new york craigslist>personals>missed connections

30. Kelly Schirmann, “not asia, exactly.

31. Emily Kendal Frey, “My Definition of Rape

32. Carrie Lorig, “Scatterstate

33. Mathias Svalina, “The Future

34. Richard Siken, “Saying Your Names

35. Zachary Schomburg, “The One About the Robbers

36. Ocean Vuong, “Revelation

BURPED, by Sarah Jean Alexander, from ILLUMINATI GIRL GANG VOL. 3

Eructè, by Sarah Jean Alexander.

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Traducciòn: Caterina Scicchitano.

sentí una gran tristeza hoy luego de mirar
Eterno Resplandor De Una Mente Sin Recuerdos
por primera vez en mucho tiempo.


no podía parar de pensar cosas como
”eso es muy yo” y ”ojala te hubieras quedado” estaba segura de que soy exactamente igual que todo el resto del mundo.

las proporciones de Kristen Dusnt de cabeza a cuerpo y a tetas 

me confunden una bocha.

en realidad no soy esclava de nada
excepto a los pelitos del cuerpo, creo.
como que toman sus propias decisiones.

te acordas de ese día que nuestras caras estaban muy cerca
y vos nose que empezaste a decir
y accidentalmente eructaste en mi boca


hoy me mire al espejo y pensé
”no creo que realmente vuelva a ser feliz,
mmh, eso es algo hermoso, no es cierto?.”


”no, no lo es, y no lo olvides,
que vos tampoco lo sos

jajaja”

from Activity Book by Kelly Schirmann
205
papermagazine:

5 Indie Poetry Books That Even Non-Lit People Will Love.
186
miratortilla:

in honor of pi day 
426

Post-Confessional

seemstween:

Luna says that all the sad, lonely girls died from the cancer of being a woman.

 

Do I have this vulvic sickness too?

 

What I do know for sure is that I have this thing with addiction:

It started with cigarettes

and adderall

and number games

and wrapping my hair around my fingers

and playing with my boyfriend’s balls

and two vaginas rubbing against each other

and HBO mini-series

and Netflix original series

and blogging

and GIFs of baby animals

and ordering pizza

and cleansing myself of pizza

and the routine of quitting

and collecting books that I will never read

and poetry

and email

and weed

and money

and institutional acceptance

and awards for genius

and storing handguns in my cunt

and recognizing TV tropes by name

and feeling wanted

and feeling neglected

and feeling wanted while being neglected

and spit in mouths

and coffee

and validation

and Ben Lerner

and my own name

and cocks

and specifically cocks in lace underwear

and pictures saturated with light

and making plans to see friends who are in different countries

            like Paris

            like UK

            like Spain

            like Canada

            like South Brooklyn

and feeling in control  

and loving myself

and feeling out of control

and hating myself

and the internet.

 

The internet…

 

Yeah, it started with just those things

and it never ended. 

seemstween:

stills from everything i want
screened at pillow talk, an event curated by grossmary for mattress
421
‘I Am Here’ navigates the vast, internal realms of the human mind. Using both stream-of-consciousness and the confessional mode, this collection of poetry offers a fresh perspective, wrought with a depth of feeling that is honest and curious.
Tracing the thoughts and feelings of a girl on the verge of womanhood, perils and triumphs are expressed. Absurd but beautiful ways of coping are revealed. Is it a glimmer of hope that emerges? Or is she part of a doomed, lost generation?
This is Ashley Opheim’s premiere book of poetry. She is the founder and co-director of This Is Happening Whether You Like It Or Not, a reading series in Montréal. She completed her BA in Creative Writing at Concordia University in 2012 and now runs the literary press Metatron. She lives in Montréal.
Cover art and design by Anjela Freyja
First printing 52 pages Saddlestitched 4.25” x 7” 100 copies available
17

Post-Swallow: Original poem by Gabby Bess

shitwonder:

image

I have a friend who keeps telling me that she just wants to be a normal girl but then changes her mind and continues to act strangely, which I like and admire. (Specifically the part about indecision and unwillingness to commit.) I guess it’s true that there are different types of girls that you can be at any given time. At most, I was probably 24 different girls at once. I’m not a callous girl, or an unfeeling one, but I’m certainly not a lonely girl. Or a sad one. In the hotel room, I just wanted to be one of many. I wanted each individual act of living on our bed to be anthologized, highlighted in their glut. There is something in being where so many bodies have been that I can romanticize easily. The sheets were neither mine nor yours but I ate them anyway. We stood the excitement of ruining that which belonged to no one. There was nothing on the walls — just prints of flowers and fruits from some generic retailer. The title of my memoir will be Still Life. You know as well as I do that to entertain a new person is just an exercise in amusement. I could perform all my faces for you and it would be a nu romance. But tru love? I don’t know about that. A forgetful girl, I left comfort on some shore that I sometimes imagined returning to – though it seemed more like a fantasy now. I could never return because, for example, I started dreaming of libraries, consuming bodies and swallowing human hair. I’m ruined and I belong to no one now. There are strangers whose hair I eat on accident. And then there is my own hair that I chew on deliberately. And then there is your hair that I patiently swallow at night. And then there are always other things that can’t be accounted for and unfortunately, there is this new sadness that hangs over us. But I ate the sadness. And when it wouldn’t fall away, I ate your body with the sky still attached to it. And when you called me a curious girl, the whole room took blueish tint. We became so quiet. Our own bodies towered over us in the absence of other images on the wall. To replace genuine feeling, I started performing this person who marveled at small things and I just wanted to touch everything at once. I just wanted. I was a Good Girl. I just wanted. I guess it’s true that I probably pout more now than I did in 2012. I guess it’s just the new thing that I do in the bathtub or at a restaurant when I’m subtly pushing my tits together and you’re not noticing. I just let the juice from the watermelon drip down my fingers and I licked them clean. I threaded my wet fingers through the handle of the mug that said #1 WIFE, though I didn’t deserve it. Oh well. I just hope that when you picture my body, I am two fingernail painting emojis and a knife emoji.

Post-Swallow: Original poem by Gabby Bess for WONDER.

Follow Gabby at seemstween