only good coochie bitches still use tumblr in 2023
pure facts
one day you think: I want to die. and then you think, very quietly: actually. actually. I think I want a coffee. a nap. a sandwich. a book. and I want to die turns day by day into want to go home, I want to walk in the woods, I want to see my friend, I want to sit in the sun, I want a cleaner kitchen, I want a better job, I want to live somewhere else. I want to live.
- via duckbunny
We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.
Anais Nin
And what kind of poet? Intimate; confessional; comic; insistently, disruptively female; a word wizard; a performance artist; a crowd pleaser.
Diane Wood Middlebrook, from ‘Anne Sexton: A Biography’
classycookiexo