Vivify

from your sweet scalp
grew dark tendrils
that framed your face
over the years

when we played Hide n Seek
the cupboards you squeezed into
soon shooed you out
the insects were making their beds

and your sweet face
watched the slow rising of flour
in the rusty hot oven
the birth of a cake

that you left stale in later years
out at a concert
bodies planted in an arena
swaying in the rain

you caught a cold
that reminded you of grandma’s bed
on which her last breath let go
and like a balloon
her spirit rose

We watched her body
lowered into the plot of land
encased in deep mahogany
and the big shovels
patted her down

fornowjustcarryon:

farfromourvices:

A writer for the new york times interviewed a series of people who had survived jumping off the golden gate bridge. Every person she interviewed admitted that about two thirds of the way down, they realized that every seemingly meaningless problem that caused them to jump was fixable.

Every single one.

this gave me chills.

Reblogging this again because it matters.

We work too hard and we press our faces against the gloried, squeaky glass-paneled windows of success. We’re pinned up against the wall, we’re running round and round in the steel cage. And if we bow out, we’re weak.