1. it’s like her body makes forgiveness
the way mine makes blood.
the way it flows from her when she’s injured.
2. she says ‘there is no such thing as destiny
there is nothing you can’t control.’
but she is wrong. she is so, so wrong.
3. i choke on my secrets. i show her my scars.
she says ‘memories are like family,
you can always walk away.’ (she hasn’t
seen her father since high school.)
4. she’s one of those anarchists
that’s really just hopeful.
revolutionaries that in their hearts
are still children with tree branch swords.
deep down, she believes the world is perfectible.
“on loving an optimist” - clementine von radics
Very, very early version of my poem “6 Memories From Loving an Optimist” that I guess is still floating around the internet! (via withoutawarning)
↳ “Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did *was* wrong. But we think you’re crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us… In the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain, and an athlete, and a basket case, a princess, and a criminal. Does that answer your question? Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club.”
“What if a weeping angel fell in love with a human, but she could never touch or talk to him, and just followed him around all day. And then, just once, she followed too close, and accidentally touched him, and this was the result.”
I never cried because of an weeping angel’s life until now