Tell me your stories, love, and I'll tell you mine

Poems are never just poems. They’re compensating for something. Here are the words I wish I had written in crescent-moon bite marks down your neck. Here are a hundred words for “stay,” and a hundred more for “please.” Here is how I hold a pen. Here is how the pen holds me. Here are my thoughts, over-steeped in empty fervor. Here is nothing and everything all at the same time.

—Fragment 5, Kristina Kutateladze (via overwhelmington)

(Source: neongospel, via balsambreath)