Though They May Be

words and poetry and things


Joanna Hoffman // “Barcode” (Poetry Observed)

"How do you go back to a world you’ve lost the map to?"

The newest video in our series with Poetry Observed. Beautiful films, beautiful poems.

(via daysofinspiration)


Dominique Christina & Denice Frohman - “No Child Left Behind” (CUPSI 2014)

"The quickest way to silence a mouth is to treat it as if none have come before."

Sometimes, two awesome poets get together and make something even more awesome. Sister Outsider Poetry, everybody.

(via daysofinspiration)

“I’ve fallen in love with you one hundred and thirty two times.
The first was at 2am, sheets sticking to our skin, sharing a pillow,
“tell me another secret”,
The twenty third time was on a highway four hundred miles later. You held my face, the sun with butterflies, the sky with pink. I felt the world spinning around its invisible axis, the solar system around its visible star, my heart dizzy from your gravity.
The seventy seventh time was when you came pouring out like a waterfall onto my toes. Give it all to me baby, the entire river, the flow and crash. I can take it. I can count so much higher.
The one hundred and tenth time was when you took it all away from me. Left my mouth gaping, a vacuum trying to suck you back in. I fell in love with you as you were leaving, fell in love with what I’d miss.
Fell in love with the face I kissed for the last time two days ago without knowing it.
The one hundred and twelfth time was in the mouth of another man calling me baby. “you’re mistaken, I was not born in you, I was born in blue eyes that are blinking somewhere else now”.
And shit, I fell in love with you just a moment ago, naked in your arms again, glutinous in how much of you I take, hoarding each moment I get in your arms, keeping them in the caves of my memory in case I’m forced to hibernate again.
I’ve known you for six hundred and something days, loved you in three hundred and something of them. Some days I spend worrying about finances and the state of the world, some days I spend locked in my room listening to Radiohead albums on repeat, some days I smoke too much and some days I sleep through to take a break from being awake. But some days I experience the in-between of miracles and magic. Some days I lose myself entirely, all because you exist. Some days you look at me and I forget my name. I fall in love over and over, again and again, adding another tally to the wall.
I’ve been alive for seven thousand and something days, most of which were mundane. Most of which were wasted. Some of which were spent falling in love with you, in your voice and in your fingertips, in your eyes and in your stride, in your presence and in your absence.
Over and over.
Again and again.
With infinite tallies on a wall.”

—   Magic Numbers by Stevie Lorann (via caelums)

(via pipeschapman)


Sierra DeMulder - “Seven Layers of Hell”

"In this room, every person I have ever regretted fucking and the sound of their orgasm."

Performing at the book release party for Michael Mlekoday’s debut collection, The Dead Eat Everything.


Ollie Renee Schminkey - “How to Love Your Body in Ten Easy Steps” (CUPSI 2014)

"Call it self-hate. Call it ‘I just need an alone day.’ Take an alone day every day."

Performing for Macalester College during prelims at the 2014 College Unions Poetry Slam Invitational.


Brenna Twohy - “Fantastic Breasts and Where To Find Them” (NPS 2014)

"My sex cannot be packaged. My sex is magic. It is part of a bigger story. I am whole. I exist when you are not fucking me."

One of the most memorable poems we saw at the National Poetry Slam this year. Harry Potter, feminism, sex positivity.


So there was this boy, Anthony, the son of the babysitter I had when I was five. I said once that I could write a whole poem about how he loved to get me in trouble. Here you go.

One time when we were five we were doing some sort of craft and Anthony was telling me about God. In response to him telling me God was everywhere, I waved my plastic scissors in the air like a sword, saying I was cutting the air, saying I was cutting God. Because to my five year old self, the air and God were the same thing. Anthony cried to his mother, and I was put on a time-out.

I loved Winnie the Pooh when I was little. I had a stuffed Tigger, and Eeyore, and Pooh Bear. But my Pooh Bear had the wrong colour fur on his nose. I spent one afternoon plucking every bit of fur from that poor bear’s nose and left a mess on the carpet. Anthony cried to his mother, and I was put on a time-out.

You know how when some people eat cereal they drink the milk from the bowl when they’re done? I never did that. I ate the cereal and the milk together, but I never drank the leftover milk in the bowl. One time I decided to try it, and lifted the bowl to my lips to drink from it like a cup. I still don’t know why, but Anthony cried to his mother, and I was put on a time-out.

I was never a nap-time child. At home, nap-time meant lying on my parents bed watching a Land Before Time movie. When I was a little older and in day-care after kindergarten in the mornings, nap-time meant going into the older kids room and colouring in the colouring books because I couldn’t nap during the day like the other younger kids. So when I was at the babysitter’s and nap-time rolled around,  I just lay there, singing to my Pooh Bear until we were allowed to get up again. You must see the pattern here; Anthony cried to his mother, and I was put on a time-out. For not sleeping.

Every little kid knows if you find a dead bird on the sidewalk you don’t touch it. It’s full of “diseases” and “can make you sick.” One time on the way to the park I found a dead bird on the sidewalk. I knew not to touch it, but I figured I was allowed to nudge it with my boot, to make sure it was actually dead. Anthony cried to his mother about how I touched the dead bird, and when we got home, and I was put on a time-out.

Anthony, you little shit disturber I hope someone tattled on you when you were older, because these things happened to me when I was five and I still remember them clear as day, what did I ever do to you to deserve to many time-outs?


Albert Goldbarth, “The Sciences Sing a Lullaby”


Albert Goldbarth, “The Sciences Sing a Lullaby”

(via wingedescape)

“Crying is okay here.
Hold your mountains close and
our valleys closer, they say.
You don’t know how lucky you are, they say.
But not knowing is okay here.
Waiting is okay here, even if
all the clocks have stopped their ticking
and the mountains are turning to silt
that spins in the sky above the villages
before it sinks to the ocean bed
where the monsters lurk.
Sometimes, the church pew will
turn its back to you.
It is not your fault. Inside your mouth
is all the spirit you will ever need.
Inside your knees is all the forward
you are still waiting for.
One day, you will be sitting behind a desk
that still doesn’t feel like yours.
One day, your bones will break and
you will not feel a thing and the tears won’t come.
So cry while you can. Into your pillow,
into the soil, into the crook of your elbow.
The walls may be closing in but they are not falling.
You are getting older and older but
you have never been younger than this.
You are getting weaker and weaker
but you have never been stronger than this.
Crying is okay here. Tripping is okay here.
You, with your smeared lips and hours to go
before morning and no where to turn to
but back again, you are okay here.
Even if you aren’t.”

—   Theory | Ramna Safeer (via inkywings)

(via theleavinglight)