speak, girl

You are tired, (I think)

eecummingspoetry:

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

- e.e. cummings

crying in the library, nbd

nick’s moving out on the 1st.

Last year I abstained
this year I devour

without guilt
which is also an art

— Margaret Atwood, “Last year I abstained”

(Source: silvercruiser, via fughawzi)

myylifeasalex:

xroldan: What if we told our little girls this? It’s ok to touch…

xroldan:

What if we told our little girls this?
It’s ok to touch yourself
Anywhere
Whenever
If you want to
If it makes you feel good
If you get wet that’s okay
If you don’t that’s okay too
Just wash your hands before
Just like you do before you eat
Prepare
Treat your body like a temple
Every time you do anything with your body it is sacred
When you are older enjoy your body as much as you can
Feeling good is ok
Share your body whenever you want to
When you don’t feel like sharing, that’s ok too
There will be times when you don’t feel like loving your own body
There will be times when you want to love yourself several times a day
If you share your intimate moments with others they may feel closer to you
Or they may not
Not everyone learns what I am teaching you
But my concern is you
The most important thing is to love yourself
When you love yourself so much you will reach a point
That you don’t need anyone else
You will feel that full and that complete
Then you will overflow
Then you can’t do anything but share your love
It will exude from your very pores
People will tell you they feel something special about your energy
Your ego will like hearing it
But your heart will be so full of love that your ego will shrink
You will begin to see love everywhere
You will begin to see love in all things
So far no one has found a limit on how much love there is
When your physical body is ready to die
Your love lives on
Your special energy to be shared for eternity
So when you touch yourself remember
It’s perfectly ok.

~Shakti Ma

A haiku

stonybrony:

My face is bearded
Your face should be bearded too
Beard beard beard beard beard.

(Source: s0me-kind-of-hope)

To My (Future) Kids

Cats and dogs are not substitutes for napkins, 
Chocolate milk does not come from brown cows,
Spaghetti sauce is not the same as water because a goldfish cannot survive without oxygen or in boiling liquids made out of tomatoes.
Pulling the emergency brake in the car while the vehicle is in motion is not ok, 
the hole at the bottom of the toilet is not for exploring; your arm will become stuck if you explore too far.
The 911 operators never find your late night conversations as funny as you do. 
If your teacher ever calls home and couples your name with the words explosion or fire hazard in the same sentence, I will always side with them.
Beer was made for drinking, not chugging, they give it a flavor for a reason. 
Being a teenager does not give you a license for stupidity or the right to drive.

But you do have the right to sing out loud, singing is for the tin eared and the musically impaired;
the ones who think treble cleft is something fixed with plastic surgery;
When you open your mouth you are Sam Cooke in his prime, Marvin Gaye and Al Green with 10X the charm and don’t let anyone tell you differently, because songs may end past the lips but they start somewhere between the shoulders and hips: that’s where the soul resides and all souls are equal.

Dancing is not just for school functions and no, it’s not the motion people make in music videos where they’re trying to make their zippers kiss one another.
I give you permission to stake every walking surface as your own personal dance floor,
as if you are a footloose Christopher Columbus and the only way to claim the Americas was to do the electric slide.

You’re going to discover that
conversations are best at 4 am:
The heavier the eyelids, the sincerer the words,
Those are the talks you’ll remember.
It’s ok not to know the answer and silence is not awkward, it’s shared,
so share it more often than not.

Labels are for soup cans-
When you were created you weren’t mass produced
(just ask your mother if you don’t believe me).

Pornography is only two people getting paid,
Authentic romance doesn’t begin when the background music starts-
Son your sweetheart is not a princess, she’s a temple, and your body a burnt sacrifice.
Daughter your lover is not a knight, he is a compass and you a map,
So do not treat each other like glass, with delicate hands,
Because like dough we need to be punched and kneaded to know our weight and worth.

Remember that sincerity may not always gain you friends but it will keep heaviness from your heart.

Love the world or love God
For you cannot do both.

Just don’t grow up too fast,
Don’t be afraid to run so fast both feet leave the ground.
When you stop learning hopefully it’s the same time you stop breathing.

For every kid is born with color vision but adults have chosen to see the world in black and white
So when you’re offered a pair of 3D glasses grab them like your life depends on it,
because it does.
The adult world is full of numbers that will make your head spin and wallets and bank accounts that are filled with abstracts,
it will tell you that you are what you make, you are what you have, you are what people remember you to be.
But realize this if nothing else; that you have a God and Father that says, I always was, I always am, and your empty palms and open heart are enough for me.

-Anis Mojgani

(Source: soundyouryawp, via slaughterhousefive)

What Lot’s Wife Would Have Said (If She Wasn’t A Pillar of Salt)

eating-poetry:

Do you remember when we met
in Gomorrah? When you were still beardless,
and I would oil my hair in the lamp light before seeing
you, when we were young, and blushed with youth
like bruised fruit. Did we care then
what our neighbors did
in the dark?

When our first daughter was born
on the River Jordan, when our second
cracked her pink head from my body
like a promise, did we worry
what our friends might be
doing with their tongues?

What new crevices they found
to lick love into or strange flesh
to push pleasure from, when we
called them Sodomites then,
all we meant by it
was neighbor.

When the angels told us to run
from the city, I went with you,
but even the angels knew
that women always look back.
Let me describe for you, Lot,
what your city looked like burning
since you never turned around to see it.

Sulfur ran its sticky fingers over the skin
of our countrymen. It smelled like burning hair
and rancid eggs. I watched as our friends pulled
chunks of brimstone from their faces. Is any form
of loving this indecent?

Cover your eyes tight,
husband, until you see stars, convince
yourself you are looking at Heaven.

Because any man weak enough to hide his eyes while his neighbors
are punished for the way they love deserves a vengeful god.

I would say these things to you now, Lot,
but an ocean has dried itself on my tongue.
So instead I will stand here, while my body blows itself
grain by grain back over the Land of Canaan.
I will stand here
and I will watch you
run.

By Karen Finneyfrock

(via clatterandclank)

ryanvoid:

I will never write another sestina.
They are made of repetition and suffering. 

Right there with you on this one, bro. A really good sestina makes me shit myself with delight, but trying to write them just makes me shit myself.

Samsara

recoveringhipster:

speakgirl:

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This is really fucking good. I need to get off my ass and start writing again.

The fact that you liked it makes me SO. HAPPY.

formed poetry exists to be broken.

there are few things I find more satisfying than writing something, shaping it into a form, and then fucking it up again.

Samsara

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