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More dogs with their babies.

Oh my god!


Back home, the girls are not soft —
they pit peaches with their teeth,
drink sadness like they’re starving.

They always dance alone,
listen to songs with lyrics
about strawberry wine.

They blossom like beer bottles,
wear october on their shins,
split open, screaming —

a foreign rose
just aching
for a fight.

The Girls Back Home | d.a.s. (via seacrustpunx)

untitled by -hille- on Flickr.


untitled by -hille- on Flickr.

What do we want from each other
after we have told our stories
do we want
to be healed do we want
mossy quiet stealing over our scars
Audre Lorde “There Are No Honest Poems About Dead Women” (via jamais-etre-vue)