Blossoming Ink

Hi everyone! I'm Franchesca Alamo, and I live in Houston, Texas. In May of 2010, I visited my old elementary school and gave a presentation on the beauty and power of poetry to a group of second and third grade students. And I was forever changed.

Blossoming Ink is a program begun by me in which I attend local schools to present my own work, to invite students to write their own poems and explore their own creative talents, and to present educators with more information about the Poetry Society of Texas Student Awards, which honors hundreds of Texas students every year. I gave this program its title because I believe that poetic talent is a seed that will not grow unless it is nurtured and loved, and I want the seeds of students all over Texas to blossom into beautiful flowers and mighty oaks.

To read more about my goals for Blossoming Ink, please read this entry:
later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?

it answered
— Warsan Shire (via koiosurya)

Source: tiddly-pom

Dark thing,
make a myth of yourself:

all women turn into lilacs,

all men grow sick of their errant scent.
You could learn

to build a window, to change flesh
into isinglass, nothing

but a brittle river, a love of bone.
— Jennifer Chang, from “This Corner of the Western World,” The History of Anonymity (University of Georgia Press, 2008)

Source: a-pair-of-ragged-claws


literature exam tomorrowwww 🙏📄📓

Source: study-errday

Nobody will ever love you as much as an artist can. On your worst days, they will find poetry in the knots of your hair.
— That Could Have Been Me (k.p.k)

Source: towritepoems

Source: uni-ty


Richard Leach
7 Words, Distressed page from old poetry book on playing card.


Richard Leach

7 Words, Distressed page from old poetry book on playing card.

Source: nearlya



A batch of wonderful book dedications.

'just skip the sex scenes, please'

Source: mysharona1987

Hearts are wild creatures, that’s why our ribs are cages.
— Unknown (via bl-ossomed)

Source: elalusz

I will bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want to do with you
what spring does with the cherry trees.
— Pablo Neruda, Every Day You Play (via yourlifeisyourmessage)

Source: caveofhypnos

When God created his angels he did not mean
to make divinely cruel urban monsters who
stalk back alleys and lurk in the shadows.

Michael breathes out smog and a Bowie knife
is clutched in his hand. He uses it for fun.
Raphael’s grin glints gold in the amber lighting:
angels live for war.

They all move as a unit. In Heaven
they were called a garrison.
Here, they are a gang.

On the other side of town is Lucifer,
pressing hasty kisses on Lillith’s neck in a
dirty restroom. Her lipstick is sin-red and smudged.

Hell is a dusty dive bar, the Throne
a battered bar stool and Lucifer reigns triumphant.
He rules the south side and tomorrow he will
battle Michael tooth and nail for the west.

God gave his angels form
and they did the rest.

Source: coleridges