If it’s meant for you, you won’t have to beg for it. You will never have to sacrifice your dignity for your destiny.
— Chelsis Porter (via memonite)
Free Write 517
When I’m not writing poetry I feel worthless.
And yes, I believe in Allah, especially when I am not writing,
when I am feeling worthless there is really nothing better to do in this life.
I’m not sure if that is cynical of me or not.
I am a troglodite and I am not ashamed, I am only ashamed when my need for love drags me out of my cave, away from the page and into the world.
Humanity is not so hard to navigate.
Social exchanges are not intimidating.
Everyone wants the same things essentially, love, belonging, meaning, understanding, attention, blah blah blah. We stroke each other and pur to be stroked and it goes on that way.
Heartbreak is something I will never get used to. Opening the heart is part of growing, being hurt enough to close it off, salinize that plot where feeling sprout and burning the tips of the valves are just as integral, just as necessary as falling in love in the first place.
I just want to roll with my windows down
and find the strength I need to get off drugs.
prose,aic: An Open Letter (Of Support) to the Leadership of Abercrombie and Fitch
To Mike Jeffries:
When I was starting out as a senior in High School I had the coolest best friend. Let’s call her Becca. She is gorgeous, perfectly proportioned though shorter than average, with long curly red-blonde hair and a show-stopping smile. She is hip. She is sexy. She leaves all the…
“Lots of people love how I look, I’m healthy and recovering and maybe I’ll be confident when I’m older. But even if I start feeling cool I won’t shop at your store, because now that I’m healthy, you don’t carry my size.”
— proseaic.tumblr.com
The Cunning Linguist: Sabbatical
Quit your corporate job
with all it’s hardness
and sales quotas.
Quit money,
grow your hair out
fully like sunshine
in summer months.
Twirl dark curls
against your fingertips.
Kick off your suede shoes,
loosen that thick knot;
your double windsor noose.
Samba with strangers
to old…
living in new jersey sucks big time
If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.
— Zora Neale Hurston (via karlmagkatzen)
The Cunning Linguist: Croon
Im gonna quit my corporate job, with all it’s hardness and money,
And grow my hair out fully for the summer months, twirling dark curls
Against my fingertips.
I’m gonna send my ex the million letters I have written her,
And smoke a million of cigarettes
On the curb of warm Atlantic…
Trifecta
When the mind questions,
Answer it with the soul.
“Black women wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and see Black women. White women wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and see women. White men wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and see human beings.”— Michelle Haimoff, on privilege (via jatigi)
Food for thought.
One small piece of information.
The new poetry club with conduct under the name “Symposium”. Even though dues are unadvised, I would be willing to contribute a few bucks to sparkling cider for every week’s meeting.
Gosh, if only booze was allowed on campus.
Oh yeah, “Be there or be square” is on the flyer.
I had discovered that was the best way to get rid of friends. Once you had a drink all you had to say was: “Well, I’ve got to get back and get off some cables,” and it was done. It is very important to discover graceful exits like that…
— Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises. (via ryanshistoryblog)
She was looking into my eyes with that way she had of looking that made you wonder whether she really saw out of her own eyes. They would look on and on after every one else’s eyes in the world would have stopped looking. She looked as though there were nothing on earth she would not look at like that, and really she was afraid of so many things.
— The Sun Also Rises, Hemingway (via labdelaziz)
