“I want to live the rest of my life, however long or short, with as much sweetness as I can decently manage, loving all the people I love, and doing as much as I can of the work I still have to do. I am going to write fire until it comes out of my ears, my eyes, my noseholes—everywhere. Until it’s every breath I breathe. I’m going to go out like a fucking meteor”—Audre Lorde (via feniceargento)
do you ever wanna talk about a thing but you know you already talk about it too much and your friends are sick of hearing about it so instead you just hold it all inside you and constantly feel like you’re gonna burst?
“[The vast, circumambient atmosphere
Allows me but ninety cubic centimeters
Of its billions of gallons and miles of sky.]
I inhale it anyway,
Knowing that it will hurt
In the weary ends of my crumpled paper bag lungs.”—Mark O’Brien, from “Breathing” (via the-final-sentence)