i wish there wasn’t a stigma about doing things alone. you can’t go out to eat alone, you can’t see a movie alone, basically anything fun, you’re looked down on for doing alone and it’s so stupid you shouldn’t need other people to validate your decisions
i pointed at her swollen belly confused at how my mother
had gotten so big in such little time
my father scooped me in his tree trunk arms and said
the closest thing to god on this earth is a woman’s body
it’s where life comes from
and to have a grown man tell me something so powerful at such a young age changed me to see that the entire universe rested at my mother’s feet
white girls who want my culture’s bindis and saris and henna
take my skin colour too
and my dark brown lips
take my self-hatred because i don’t fit into the euro-centric ideals of beauty
take the oppression too
take the history of colonization that has devastated my country
and the drones that currently devastate my country
take all the bad stuff too
not just the pretty, shiny, sparky bits
take the ugly, dehumanizing and shitty parts too
A white man carries a black girl on his shoulders during a march with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Alabama, ca. 1965.
This has to be one of my favorite things ever
OMG this picture is so precious
— (via fairyllit6)
She once asked me
the name of my
and I replied
and played along
and asked me
which one of his
works was my
I said it was
being called annoying is literally the worst thing ever because then you’re scared to ever say or do anything again and you end up isolating yourself because you think everyone hates you and you feel insecure about everything. long story short pls dont call people annoying
my dad said he didn’t want anything to do with me anymore
because he already paid off his child support.
It made me wonder if when I pay off my student loans,
my degree will have no longer have value either.
I have to get my tonsils removed.
I know I’ve talked circles about the one who walked away
but I feel like he is a piece of me that I don’t really need,
that causes me so much pain and for some reason I put off removing.
apparently the surgery is worse on adults,
apparently the recovery process is hell
but my doctor says I’ll live a better life
if I just face the facts and do it.
my mother said I cried when I lost my first tooth,
I didn’t understand that I didn’t need it anymore.
I never wanted to lose my innocence,
I never wanted to remove the pieces of my body
that my mother grew for me,
I never wanted to say goodbye
to someone that made me feel whole
or to bury the pieces of him that I had
when he left me feeling broken.
my brother told me that everybody has to die
as he looked at his garden.
he said we are orcas
I laughed until he got quiet
and said we are orcas because he knows that
his daughter will have always have a family
long after he’s gone.
they say an entire orca pod stays together for life,
they say each pod has it’s own dialect and language.
they say orcas have a larger part of their brain
for emotions than humans,
that the mother will sometimes carry
her deceased child in their mouth for a week before letting them go.
my brother is 31 and instead of thinking
about the flowers on his daughter’s wedding day,
he thinks of what flowers he wants next to his casket.
I don’t want to admit this,
I don’t want to think about this
but I can’t ignore it either.
If I could stand in your driveway
with my tears in a jar and my happiness in another
I swear to God I’d hand you every smile I had left in me,
I swear to God I’d give you every laugh for the rest of my life.
even when we hit our funny bone,
we wince while everyone else laughs.
I’d slam myself into the corner of every table
just to see you smile.
I’ve spent too many nights
trying to write poems to the wounded,
hoping my words can heal someone.
you say that it’s too hard to watch me self-destruct.
tonight I wonder if I should have written those poems to myself.
but my life is an open book, you see
life hurts and life isn’t fair
but I can’t pretend sadness isn’t bittersweet
when you of all people know
that even the caterpillars weep when their friend
becomes a butterfly before they are ready
to say goodbye.
— you are my friend until the end and if your wings forget how to fly,
you can have mine. I love you. //d.a.h (via whisperingbones)
when I asked my grandfather what he would do differently
if he could go back and be 25 again
he said he would go out dancing,
dancing every night.
when I asked myself what I thought I’d say
when my grand daughter asked me the same question
I realized I never thought I’d live to be old;
my reflection once told me that writers die young
because they tell the truths of the world
and the world prefers her secrets kept.
evidently we both prefer to kill the messenger.
writers spend their time drinking coffee black
and using honey to smother their lovers in the beauty of illusion.
and like he said, he’d much rather twirl and sweat and appreciate
than to be like us,
the writers who spend too much time
enjoying disaster much more than organization.
than to be like us,
the writers who spend too much time living life on paper
rather than off.
he’s at the edge of the paper,
no longer limited by space but time
and I’m writing.
I’m here just beginning to write
with pen and the permanence,
unable to go back without scratches
on the page showing where I have been.
I guess I’d rather hope for the illusion and drift in bliss
than write with the clarity of a pointless journey.
and for the record sometimes I dance,
I dance all night
with pen and paper in my hand.
evidently we both prefer to dance with someone else
close in our arms.
evidently the writer never wished
to write alone
but we do.
opinions on abortions are kinda like nipples
everyone has them but women’s are a little bit more relevant
But all you ever see are men’s
England and Canada love to use America as their scapegoat to hide all the terrible racism happening in their countries
I see you, Fox News.