Water Trine Things
@watersignbot.bsky.social
a bot for phrases from other poems, books, songs, etc. that make me lose my mind :-) you can dm me for questions/sources! posts every hour (moved over from twitter)
I condemn you. Yet my heart yearns towards you.
December 30, 2025 at 12:44 PM
I condemn you. Yet my heart yearns towards you.
One day I will become what I want.
One day I will become an idea
One day I will become an idea
December 30, 2025 at 11:43 AM
One day I will become what I want.
One day I will become an idea
One day I will become an idea
I love so much
that I am sick of it.
that I am sick of it.
December 30, 2025 at 10:40 AM
I love so much
that I am sick of it.
that I am sick of it.
How I wanted to be that sky – to hold every flight & fall at once.
December 30, 2025 at 9:37 AM
How I wanted to be that sky – to hold every flight & fall at once.
I love well. Here is my proof that I paid the price.
December 30, 2025 at 8:31 AM
I love well. Here is my proof that I paid the price.
There is
so much violence in reconstruction.
Each minute is grisly, but I have
to participate. I am building
what I cannot break.
so much violence in reconstruction.
Each minute is grisly, but I have
to participate. I am building
what I cannot break.
December 30, 2025 at 7:33 AM
There is
so much violence in reconstruction.
Each minute is grisly, but I have
to participate. I am building
what I cannot break.
so much violence in reconstruction.
Each minute is grisly, but I have
to participate. I am building
what I cannot break.
How hellish, discovering that the journey was not
enough, even at its end, that impulse to look back,
which is like admitting grief is a form of self-sabotage.
enough, even at its end, that impulse to look back,
which is like admitting grief is a form of self-sabotage.
December 30, 2025 at 6:32 AM
How hellish, discovering that the journey was not
enough, even at its end, that impulse to look back,
which is like admitting grief is a form of self-sabotage.
enough, even at its end, that impulse to look back,
which is like admitting grief is a form of self-sabotage.
Every night I pray to love
please invent yourself.
please invent yourself.
December 30, 2025 at 5:29 AM
Every night I pray to love
please invent yourself.
please invent yourself.
My tears ache to become stars.
December 30, 2025 at 4:27 AM
My tears ache to become stars.
the tongue gives
the mind a chance to get
thunderstruck
the mind a chance to get
thunderstruck
December 30, 2025 at 3:20 AM
the tongue gives
the mind a chance to get
thunderstruck
the mind a chance to get
thunderstruck
you can kill your current life without dying. you can kill this version of you and make a new one.
December 30, 2025 at 2:18 AM
you can kill your current life without dying. you can kill this version of you and make a new one.
In your memory, you're drunk on your awe to me / It doesn't mean anything at all
December 30, 2025 at 1:17 AM
In your memory, you're drunk on your awe to me / It doesn't mean anything at all
. . . because though I want to see myself as a woman of strong feeling but peaceable instincts, I have to realize how often anger fuels my acts and thoughts, how very often I indulge in anger.
December 30, 2025 at 12:14 AM
. . . because though I want to see myself as a woman of strong feeling but peaceable instincts, I have to realize how often anger fuels my acts and thoughts, how very often I indulge in anger.
Used to make noise, now, I much prefer silence
December 29, 2025 at 11:12 PM
Used to make noise, now, I much prefer silence
To love someone longterm is to attend a thousand funerals of the people they used to be.
December 29, 2025 at 11:11 PM
To love someone longterm is to attend a thousand funerals of the people they used to be.
I see your reflection in my jawbone
soft in the curve of my lip
I think I will look like you
when I'm old.
soft in the curve of my lip
I think I will look like you
when I'm old.
December 29, 2025 at 10:06 PM
I see your reflection in my jawbone
soft in the curve of my lip
I think I will look like you
when I'm old.
soft in the curve of my lip
I think I will look like you
when I'm old.
Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it's noon, that means
we're inconsolable.
Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we'll never get used to it.
we're inconsolable.
Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we'll never get used to it.
December 29, 2025 at 9:03 PM
Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it's noon, that means
we're inconsolable.
Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we'll never get used to it.
we're inconsolable.
Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we'll never get used to it.
Most of our childhood is stored not in photos, but certain biscuits, lights of day, smells, textures of carpet.
December 29, 2025 at 8:00 PM
Most of our childhood is stored not in photos, but certain biscuits, lights of day, smells, textures of carpet.
I leaned into you,
all of you,
as if in chorus.
all of you,
as if in chorus.
December 29, 2025 at 6:55 PM
I leaned into you,
all of you,
as if in chorus.
all of you,
as if in chorus.
I only have you. Take care of yourself for me. I take care of myself for you.
December 29, 2025 at 5:56 PM
I only have you. Take care of yourself for me. I take care of myself for you.
But I shouldn't have built a house in the middle
of your chest
Plywood boards joined at your breast
Splinter in my arm where you rest your head.
of your chest
Plywood boards joined at your breast
Splinter in my arm where you rest your head.
December 29, 2025 at 4:54 PM
But I shouldn't have built a house in the middle
of your chest
Plywood boards joined at your breast
Splinter in my arm where you rest your head.
of your chest
Plywood boards joined at your breast
Splinter in my arm where you rest your head.
I would make for you
the barest of sounds, wing against wing,
there, at the point of articulation.
the barest of sounds, wing against wing,
there, at the point of articulation.
December 29, 2025 at 3:52 PM
I would make for you
the barest of sounds, wing against wing,
there, at the point of articulation.
the barest of sounds, wing against wing,
there, at the point of articulation.
Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving. When we can be alone, we can be with others without using them as a means of escape.
December 29, 2025 at 2:50 PM
Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving. When we can be alone, we can be with others without using them as a means of escape.
We move within the snow-chromed world: Like-animal. Like-deer. An alphabet. Along a street white as lamplight into the winter, walking–: like language, a new text. I touch her with the eyes of my skin.
December 29, 2025 at 1:51 PM
We move within the snow-chromed world: Like-animal. Like-deer. An alphabet. Along a street white as lamplight into the winter, walking–: like language, a new text. I touch her with the eyes of my skin.
In my chest I am two-hearted always–
love and what love becomes
arrive when they want to, and hungry.
love and what love becomes
arrive when they want to, and hungry.
December 29, 2025 at 12:47 PM
In my chest I am two-hearted always–
love and what love becomes
arrive when they want to, and hungry.
love and what love becomes
arrive when they want to, and hungry.