Emma//19//Los Angeles//Florence//Paris
http://emmaholterpoetry.tumblr.com/
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1 hour ago

the whole of it was so nice

(Source: weheartit.com, via fragilis)

the whole of it was so nice

5 hours ago

geoffrox:

Imagine if the series had ended right after this moment.

(Source: gusfrngs, via kerrigans)


7 hours ago

malaspulgas:

life as of late


"Poetry is eternal graffiti written in the heart of everyone."
—Lawrence Ferlinghetti (via observando)

(via thestriversrow)


10 hours ago

Italy + Water  x

(via shamitomita)


Zone, after Guillaume Apollinare

emmaholterpoetry:

And today I wake to Paris
today I climb the arch at its star-shaped heart
today, the Oberkampf florist, cigarette held between teeth, bundles red cream roses, and doesn’t touch the blooms.
the market on Boulevard Henri-Quatre is soaked from the Sunday rain
the beggar’s daughter picks my gaze…

ANOTHER POEM FROM MY MONTH IN PARIS


1 day ago

Soon

(Source: separat, via orgasm)

Soon

1 day ago

the book of common prayer

(Source: winterfellis, via napsie)

the book of common prayer

1 day ago

god I miss dancing

(Source: prettiefaces, via danceistolivetoliveistodance)

god I miss dancing


purtie:

pale/indie blog

read at 14 and 19

2 days ago

arcticdiscos:

 Sylvia Plath. 1932-1963

 “I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I  want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the  skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades,  tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in  life. And I am horribly limited.” 

(via kerrigans)

arcticdiscos:

 Sylvia Plath. 1932-1963
 “I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I  want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the  skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades,  tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in  life. And I am horribly limited.” 

Sestina 1

emmaholterpoetry:

But it was late
and maybe you should have left
earlier when the rain wasn’t still
pouring over the pulse-heart city.
Maybe then we would both have had more—
and there would have been few tears

fewer ambulance light tears
scuffing down my cheeks. It was too late
for this type of accident….

NEW POEM FROM PARIS


jessupdeane:

AJ

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