fly underground

My sickness is there when I look in the mirror. It is not all that I am, but it is an inexorable part of me. I am finally beginning to accept that. Which is to say, I am learning to accept the world in all of its contradictions and live as best I can within them.

Clementine von Radics, “A Polite Way of Saying ‘Incurable’”

(via twloha)

You know how they say “Be the person you would have needed as a teenager?”

I just got published by To Write Love On Her Arms, an organization that does amazing work to present hope for people struggling with addiction, depression, self injury, and thoughts of suicide.Their recourses were so helpful to me, and to be able to contribute was an honor.

Huge, HUGE thanks to my editor Claire Biggs and to TWLOHA for reaching out to me.

(via clementinevonradics)

So much love and support and respect for Clementine! Read her whole piece here!

I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.

—Gilda Radner (via a-thousand-words)

Don’t be someone that searches, finds, and then runs away.

—Paulo Coelho (via kari-shma)

You have to decide what your highest priorities are and have the courage—pleasantly, smilingly, nonapologetically, to say “no” to other things. And the way you do that is by having a bigger “yes” burning inside. The enemy of the “best” is often the “good.

—Stephen R. Covey (via quotebookshelf)

You don’t know anyone at the party, so you don’t want to go. You don’t like cottage cheese, so you haven’t eaten it in years. This is your choice, of course, but don’t kid yourself: it’s also the flinch. Your personality is not set in stone. You may think a morning coffee is the most enjoyable thing in the world, but it’s really just a habit. Thirty days without it, and you would be fine. You think you have a soul mate, but in fact you could have had any number of spouses. You would have evolved differently, but been just as happy.

You can change what you want about yourself at any time. You see yourself as someone who can’t write or play an instrument, who gives in to temptation or makes bad decisions, but that’s really not you. It’s not ingrained. It’s not your personality. Your personality is something else, something deeper than just preferences, and these details on the surface, you can change anytime you like.

If it is useful to do so, you must abandon your identity and start again. Sometimes, it’s the only way.

Set fire to your old self. It’s not needed here. It’s too busy shopping, gossiping about others, and watching days go by and asking why you haven’t gotten as far as you’d like. This old self will die and be forgotten by all but family, and replaced by someone who makes a difference.

Your new self is not like that. Your new self is the Great Chicago Fire—overwhelming, overpowering, and destroying everything that isn’t necessary.

—Julien Smith, The Flinch (via larmoyante)

five hundred and ninety two: Nightmare Girl

When we broke up, I kept the vase you bought me.
Every night for a year I imagined the glorious wreckage,
inched my hand towards its delicate center,
held it sometimes like a newborn baby,
sometimes like a piece of twenty dollar trash. 

So much love for art that is not art,
so much contempt for love that is not love. 

I think of the first bouquet that died there,
how I snipped each stem in the kitchen sink.
The flowers with thorns. Our easy fingertips.

You called me your nightmare girl. I laughed
when you kissed me, fell asleep with our naked legs
fitted together. 

Baby, were you ever really scared of me
or was it something else? My even stare, 
the night you cried in my bed, my trembling hands resting.
We didn’t even have sex. There was too much moonlight
and anyway, you were upset. I zipped up your jacket, told you
to get away. In the morning, I watched the sun rise by myself.

I used to think I could never hurt you. 
Even your unsteady breathing, your bad dreams,
your hands on my side. 
                                   Nightmare girl, you’d say, 
maybe I’m the only one who can really see you
Nightmare girl, if I love you, maybe this is why. 

Baby, don’t you see me anymore? Baby, you changed.
Hush, this isn’t a dream. Baby. I am going to hurt you
the way you hurt me. 

Anonymous asked: Your poetry is beautiful and so are you, love from Sweden.

FROM SWEDEN!! ah, this warmed my heart! thank you, sending you lots of love and gratitude from new york! 

snapshots of me from july 4th to august 5th. in-between graduating from college, applying to jobs, getting rejected from jobs, getting a job (hello nyc civic corps 2014-2015!!!), figuring out grad school apps, going on a tinder date, meeting up with old friends, and sweating out this summer, i realize i have not been posting as much! i am very sorry about that and i hope that changes soon. i am planning lots of things, many new poems and projects in the works! here are a few glimpses of my face because it has been such a long time, friends.

five hundred and ninety one: the minor pains

1.
My mosquito-bite collage leg
a canvas of pink mountains and road bumps
everything three-dimensional.
My best friend tells me that anything that itches is a minor pain.
This makes it sound like all my red dotted paths
are tiny and contained, not spreading up.
I am always touching,
hot, even when I’m sleeping,
my hand traveling down
over somewhere else.

2.
In New Mexico it is humid enough
that my hair curls over the back of my neck
,
you write on the back of a postcard.
I drink iced tea at franchised coffee shops, always without milk,
always with sugar. I am getting used to the taste of different things,
sugarcane and tea leaves, something about India
and the rough family trip there.
I live in a city. I live in a city.
Every two minutes there is another plane flying overhead
and the monster sound of a robot bird
drowning out my scheduled television programming.

3.
I’m nothing if not prepared,
so I scratched your arm, your stomach, your feet.
You watched me tentatively, confused,
because this wasn’t sex again. Why, you asked,
which was so simple and exactly like you,
like things added up to clean explanations.
I loved you then, though it hadn’t yet hurt me
and I didn’t have the insight to think anything strange
of the way we slept together
disturbed and frantic, kissed out,
tired. I said, did you know that an itch is a minor pain?
Nail trailing down your side, careful, precise.
Honey, I don’t want you to hurt even a little.
I just want you to be ready for anything.


Excerpt from an OKCupid message sent to a friend of mine, who listed me under her favorite authors. The text reads: “I looked up Yena Sharma Purmasir at your suggestion and I was pretty impressed. Is that sort of wistful melancholy pervasive everywhere on her blog? She had this one entry, I’m not sure if you’d call it a poem, it was more brief blog entry on the image of a train written in florid prose. It talked about the ambiguity of the image, how she was never sure if it was coming or going and she had to get rid of the image when she could only se it as leaving. Something about that struck a chord with me. I can see how many things about trains can be similarly poignant. The sound of an oncoming train can be ominous or heartbreaking for instance.”

Important things about this: 
1. If you’re still checking out my blog, OKCupid man, hello! Glad you like my writing!
2. For those of you who are on OKCupid (not so pertinent to my friends on Tinder, Coffee Meets Bagel, etc.) clearly you should also list me as one of your favorite writers, because this could be a thing - introducing my work to an audience outside tumblr: hello strangers on dating websites, nice to meet you! 
3. An OKCupid man liked my work, and if this wasn’t the extra push you needed to buy my book, Until I Learned What It Meant, then maybe it will be the fact that Where Are You Press is having a FLASH SALE until midnight on Sunday, July 27th. You can get my book for 15% off when using the coupon code "FLASH15" at checkout. 
4. To reiterate, OKCupid man is impressed with my work and my book is on sale. There could not be a better time to purchase Until I Learned What It Meant!!

Excerpt from an OKCupid message sent to a friend of mine, who listed me under her favorite authors. The text reads: “I looked up Yena Sharma Purmasir at your suggestion and I was pretty impressed. Is that sort of wistful melancholy pervasive everywhere on her blog? She had this one entry, I’m not sure if you’d call it a poem, it was more brief blog entry on the image of a train written in florid prose. It talked about the ambiguity of the image, how she was never sure if it was coming or going and she had to get rid of the image when she could only se it as leaving. Something about that struck a chord with me. I can see how many things about trains can be similarly poignant. The sound of an oncoming train can be ominous or heartbreaking for instance.”

Important things about this: 

1. If you’re still checking out my blog, OKCupid man, hello! Glad you like my writing!

2. For those of you who are on OKCupid (not so pertinent to my friends on Tinder, Coffee Meets Bagel, etc.) clearly you should also list me as one of your favorite writers, because this could be a thing - introducing my work to an audience outside tumblr: hello strangers on dating websites, nice to meet you! 

3. An OKCupid man liked my work, and if this wasn’t the extra push you needed to buy my book, Until I Learned What It Meant, then maybe it will be the fact that Where Are You Press is having a FLASH SALE until midnight on Sunday, July 27th. You can get my book for 15% off when using the coupon code "FLASH15" at checkout. 

4. To reiterate, OKCupid man is impressed with my work and my book is on sale. There could not be a better time to purchase Until I Learned What It Meant!!