When Remco Campert Said "poetry Is An Act Of Affirmation. I Affirm That I Live, That I Do Not Live Alone."

If I can talk to you and not be judged, reblog this

If I Don’t Love You

If I don’t love you,

then why,

darling,

explain to me why,

do you look so gorgeous?

Violet light,

weaving itself through strands

of golden hair.

If you don’t love me,

then why am I the first person you look at

when you walk into the room?

Some sort of something

in your eyes

as they dart away from mine.

I forget to breathe.

I see you walk out,

pretending not to notice you.

Pretending not to notice

how your eyes flick to me as you sit

carelessly

with the sun and the blue sky.

I caution a glance

as I walk away.

I don’t love you?

I don’t love you.

P.S. Yes, this one’s about the academic rival.

Photo booth photos shared by Alice Oseman

- Sylvia Plath, from 'Ariel'

"I want a boyfriend," no you want to pin a boy to a wall with a dagger to his throat, don't settle for less.

Eyes

Eyes of flowing honey,

eyes of swirling ocean.

Is there really so much of a difference?

Both marred with scars,

painfully etched in over the years by family and friends and society itself.

A father filled with rage,

a mother who never wanted her.

One desperate to fit in with American society and one forever distancing herself from it.

One knowing nothing about himself and the other knowing everything about the both of them.

Yet, when their eyes meet all the scars seem to smooth over,

the raging sea calms,

the honey travels far from the fearsome bees of its past.

And, when they are inevitably torn apart?

PICNIC AT HANGING ROCK 1975 | dir. Peter Weir