If I told you I love you.

"Don’t worry about your body. It isn’t as small as it once was, But honestly, the world needs more..."

Thu, 14 Feb 2013 10:06:43 +0100

“Don’t worry about your body.
It isn’t as small as it once was,
But honestly, the world needs more of you.
You look in the mirror
like you’ve done something wrong,
But you look perfect.
Anyone who says otherwise is telling a lie
to make you feel weak.
And you know better.
You’ve survived every single day,
for as long as you’ve been alive.
You could spit fire if you wanted.”

- For My Mother When She Doesn’t Feel Beautiful (via clementinevonradics)

"Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the..."

Wed, 16 Jan 2013 23:34:32 +0100

“Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.”

- Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell (via drinkyourjuice)

"… the bittersweet in the words I cannot speak but stick in my mouth like stones I’ve learned to talk..."

Sat, 29 Sep 2012 22:46:32 +0200

“… the bittersweet in the words
I cannot speak but stick
in my mouth like stones
I’ve learned to talk around.”

- Chard deNiord, from “The Double Truth” (via proustitute)

loqui: August

Tue, 04 Sep 2012 23:20:03 +0200

loqui: August :

loqui:

August is always a never land

A haze of timeless
Of beach wash, bronzing
And skies heavy sweltering
Gingham picnics, meadows
And endless pollination

August is a smudge of oil pastel
The stick of lipstick upon a wet cheek

It’s the humming of bees
Around honey beer and amber hair
Sand…

My Musings: You Are A Silent Terrible Thing

Tue, 04 Sep 2012 23:15:59 +0200

My Musings: You Are A Silent Terrible Thing:

my-musings:

You are a silent

Terrible

Thing.

That slashes

And softens

And threatens to bring

Destruction.

You are a brilliant

Wonderful

Thing.

That dances

And blinds

And calls me to sing

Eruption.

You are the wind.

Pressed flush

Against me

…

Josiah Coen: I Am When You

Tue, 04 Sep 2012 22:35:57 +0200

Josiah Coen: I Am When You:

josiahcoen:

I am New Orleans when you leave me
I will just regroup and rebuild
if I find myself in your path
I will just let you through again
and if you leave a second time
I will let you go
and if you never come this way
I will still call you home

I am a small town outside of Joplin
when you come rolling…

loqui: September

Tue, 04 Sep 2012 22:32:21 +0200

loqui: September :

loqui:

September is the first sign of blue
The summer edge feathered
Like a honeyed sundown falling
From the darkness;
September - a sky coming out in stars

September is August smouldered
Like the paper of a cigarette
Flaking away from the flame
September the black mark -
The claw of the…

9-3

Tue, 04 Sep 2012 22:21:52 +0200

scottiehughes:

at your end
of the continent
there are glittering
lakes, yawning,
waiting to
be crossed

soon we find
bridges whose
sole purposes
are to be
jumped off of

you once said
we’d go dancing
in white tuxedos
black taffeta gowns
patent leather
promises, you said

tonight I blow
smoke cross-legged,
polish my shoes, and
wish you well with
the prospect of
two more
broken hearts

“I always meet
the nicest people”
you tell me; what
does that make me?

Photo

Sat, 11 Aug 2012 09:08:46 +0200

"To fall in love is to create a religion that has a fallible god."

Sun, 29 Apr 2012 10:28:12 +0200

“To fall in love is to create a religion that has a fallible god.”

- Jorge Luis Borges, Other Inquisitions, 1937-52, trans. Ruth L.C. Simms (via proustitute)

"Forgive me for not writing for so long, I’ve been right beside you…"

Sat, 28 Apr 2012 10:38:41 +0200

“Forgive me for not
writing for so long, I’ve been
right beside you…”

- Dean Young, from “Sleep Cycle” (via proustitute)

"Afterward, the compromise. Bodies resume their boundaries."

Sat, 28 Apr 2012 10:20:23 +0200

“Afterward, the compromise.
Bodies resume their boundaries.”

- Maxine Kumin, from “After Love” (via proustitute)

"This hope is sere. This hope is severe. What you ruin ruins you, too and so you hope for favor. I..."

Thu, 26 Apr 2012 15:05:50 +0200

“This hope is sere.
This hope is severe.
What you ruin ruins you, too
and so you hope for favor.
I mean I do.”

- Liz Waldner, from “Semblance: Screens” (via proustitute)

"If I chose to remain alone, what I longed for was solitude, not this kind of waiting, my soul..."

Mon, 23 Apr 2012 21:04:35 +0200

“If I chose to remain alone, what I longed for
was solitude, not this kind of waiting,
my soul shattered on the horizon,
these lines, these colours, this silence.”

- George Seferis, from “Mythistorema,” trans. Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard (via proustitute)

"You are beautiful like demolition. Just the thought of you draws my knuckles white. I don’t need a..."

Sat, 18 Feb 2012 21:41:27 +0100

“You are beautiful like demolition. Just the thought of you draws my knuckles white. I don’t need a god. I have you and your beautiful mouth, your hands holding onto me, the nails leaving unfelt wounds, your hot breath on my neck. The taste of your saliva. The darkness is ours. The nights belong to us. Everything we do is secret. Nothing we do will ever be understood; we will be feared and kept well away from. ..It’s you and me in this room, on this floor. Beyond life, beyond morality. We are gleaming animals painted in moonlit sweat glow. Our eyes turn to jewels and everything we do is an example of spontaneous perfection. I have been waiting all my life to be with you. My heart slams against my ribs when I think of the slaughtered nights I spent all over the world waiting to feel your touch. The time I annihilated while I waited like a man doing a life sentence. Now you’re here and everything we touch explodes, bursts into bloom or burns to ash. History atomizes and negates itself with our every shared breath. I need you like life needs life. I want you bad like a natural disaster. You are all I see. You are the only one I want to know.”

- Henry Rollins (via sylvanslang)

"Brutal for you to parade in a body in the same room where I dream you."

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 11:43:13 +0100

“Brutal
for you to parade

in a body
in the same
room where I dream you.”

- Andrea Cohen, from “Brutal” (via proustitute)

10 Significant Life Events

Mon, 21 Feb 2011 02:31:26 +0100

dr-grumbles:

iamateenagefeminist:

My woman’s lit teacher is making us come up with the 10 most significant things that have happened in our life and present them to the class. I have come up with two lists; one that is actually my life and one that I am presenting to the class.

Actual List

Mom diagnosed with MS

Kicked out of ballet

Start swimming

Start self-harming

Meet Jacob

Stop self-harming

Discover Feminism

Get my heart broken

Get my heart broken (again)

Jeff comes out/whole situation.

School List

Born

Mom diagnosed with MS

Start swimming

Win first forensics trophy

Meet Jacob

Discover feminism

Meet Jeff

Get a 5 on the AP Psych exam

Discover tumblr

Campaigned for Virg Benero

Annnnnd, the lists only have three things in common. Wow, I have more secrets than I thought…

I really like this assignment! I want to do mine:

Mother divorced

Started school

Entered special education classes

Was adopted

Discovered my own mortality.

Made best friend.

Lost best friend.

Skipped 11th grade

Got with partner.

Went to college.

this is a stunning thing to do. Here’s mine:

- parents divorce/violence

- being an outsider throughout school

- violence by mother and her partners

- being left by father

- depression/self-harming

- first therapy

- finding and keeping best friend

- making it through studies with help

- loving and believing in myself

- realizing that my mother will do everything for me

girlcrushes are so intense.

Wed, 09 Feb 2011 23:36:52 +0100

sundae-monday:

they’re all kisses that taste like baby aspirin and green stomach bile and airplane crashes in your heart. they are never ever simple, like the way boys touch you and let you smoke their weed. they’re twisted up like pincurls and snuggled together like two-headed siamese twins licking tongues pink like candy and sweet as caramel apple original sin, and i want to break your bones as much as i want to let you in.

"They used to hang women like me, strange fruit on the poplar tree. They used to own women like..."

Fri, 04 Feb 2011 23:00:33 +0100

“

They used to hang women like me,
strange fruit on the poplar tree.

They used to own women like me,
necessary accessories.

They used to burn women like me,
to quell the fires of liberty.

In the blessed fertile crescent,
they still stone women like me.

And one day you will say,
“Just look at her now!”

I’m not yours anymore.

”

- ”Where The River Ends” by Otep (via kaykayvee)

newwavefeminism: dr-grumbles: changethechanged: fuckyeahpyts: ...

Tue, 01 Feb 2011 20:28:31 +0100

newwavefeminism:

dr-grumbles:

changethechanged:

fuckyeahpyts:

in1988:(via lionofbedstuy)

probably my most favorite poem

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

It’s Black History Month