Posts tagged personal.

You’re allowed to want to kill yourself,
but you’re not allowed to do it.
You’re allowed to fight with your mother,
but you’re not allowed to to leave her crying on your bedroom floor.
You’re allowed to miss your ex boyfriend,
but you’re not allowed to say the scars all over your arms are his fault.
You’re allowed hate the girl who almost got you suspended,
but you’re not allowed to tell her that the world would be better off without her.
You’re allowed to stand on the edge of that bridge,
but you’re not allowed to jump.
You’re allowed to be mad at the world,
but you’re not allowed to blame it for the state you’ve put yourself in.
You’re allowed to be sad,
but you’re not allowed to give up.

it’s going to be okay  (via unlively)

(via ikilledalaska)

4 days ago on 04/13/14 at 02:32pm
4 days ago on 04/13/14 at 02:23pm
#personal  #j  #a  #junior  
1 week ago on 04/10/14 at 10:50pm

Since I’m doing work out of a grammar workbook.. Can I just say that grammar kicks ass? English grammar is weird. Nothing makes sense. No one knows how to explain it. “Grammar is like a guy. You can’t change Grammar. Just accept Grammar for who Grammar is.” said my Rhetoric teacher. “btw, it wasn’t meant to work out either. Have fun, kiddos.” she added with a witch’s laugh. 

1 week ago on 04/09/14 at 11:01pm

Blue Blanket

Still there are days when there is no way
not even a chance
that I dare for even a second glance at the reflection of my body in the mirror and she knows why
like I know why she only cries when she feels she’s about to lose control
she knows how much control is worth
knows how much a woman can lose when her power to move
is taken away
By a grip so thick with hate it could clip the wings of God
Send the next eight generations of your blood shaking
and tonight something inside me is breaking

My heart beating so deep beneath the sheets of pain
I could give every tear she’s crying a name
a year
and a face I’d forever erase if I could just like she would
for you
or me
But how free would any of us be if even a few forgot what too many women in this world cannot
and what the hell would you tell your daughter?

Your someday-daughter when you have to hold her beautiful face to the beat-up face of this place that hasn’t learned the meaning of STOP
what would you tell you daughter
of the womb raped empty?
the eyes swollen shut, the gut too frightened to hold food
it was seven minutes of the worst kind of hell

And she stopped believing in heaven
mistrust became her law, fear her bible, the only chance of survival
don’t trust any of them
bolt the doors to your home, iron-gate the windows, walking to the car alone, get the key in the lock like
please, please, please open
like already she can feel the five-fingered noose around her neck, two-hundred pounds of hate digging graves into the sacred soil of her flesh
please, please, please, please open
already she can hear the broken-record of the defense:
“answer the question, answer the question, answer the question miss”
why am I on trial for this?
Would you talk to your mother, your daughter, your sister like this?
I am generations of mothers, daughters, sisters
Our bodies battlefields, war zones beneath the weapons of your brothers’ hands
do you know they’ve found land mines in broken women’s souls?
black holes in the parts of their hearts that once sang symphonies of creation as bright as the light on infinity’s halo?

She said, I remember how love used to glow like glitter on my skin before he made his way in,
Now every touch feels like a sin that could crucify medusa
kali oshun mary, bury me in a blue blanket so god doesn’t know I’m a girl, cut off my curls, I want peace when I’m dead

Her friend knocks at the door, it’s been three weeks, don’t you think it’s time you got out of bed?
The ceiling fan still feeling like his breath, I think I need just a few more days of rest
bruises on her knees from begging to forget
she’s heard stories of vietnam vets who can still feel the tingling of their amputated limbs
she’s wondering how many women are walking around this world still feeling the tingling of their amputated wings,
remembering what it was to fly, to sing

she’s not wondering what she would tell her daughter
she knows what she would tell her daughter, she’d ask her what gods do you believe in?
I’ll build you temple of mirrors so you can see them
pick the brightest star you ever wished on and I’ll show the light in you that made that wish come true

she’s not asking what you would tell your daughter, she’s life deep in the hell, the slaughter
has already died a thousand deaths with every unsteady breath
a thousand graves in every pore of her flesh
and she knows the war’s not over,
she knows there’s bleeding to come
knows she’s far from the only woman or girl trusting this world no more than the hands trust rusted barbed wire

She was whole before that night, believed in heaven before that night
and she knows she’s not only one, knows she won’t be the only one

She’s not asking
what you’re gonna tell your daughter,
She’s asking what
you’re going to teach
your son

This is what you should be teaching your sons:
Teach them that a woman’s body is not property.
It is not a house for sale.
It is not a piece of land
that gets sold to the highest bidder,
or the first man that can sweet talk them into consent.

She has thorny roses
falling out of her mouth as she speaks.
She does not have poems written on her breasts.
She has hurricanes in the back of her throat.
She has snowstorms in her brain.
Those are what you should be paying attention to.

Teach them
that the the size of a woman’s
body parts do not dictate her worth.
Each woman is a map and
if you dismiss her
because she has plateaus
where another woman has mountains,
and mountains where another woman has valleys,
then you will be missing out
on an awfully big adventure.

Teach them that you cannot expect
a woman to accept your insecurities,
if you do not accept hers.

Teach them that pressuring a woman to consent is not consent.
Teach them that “I love you’s” are not consent.
Teach them that a relationship, a marriage,
their clothing, their flirting,
is not consent.
Teach them that being too high,
too drunk,
or too unconscious
is not consent.

Teach them that even though virginity
is a construct of the patriarchy,
for a woman to trust someone
with her naked body for the first time,
is still frightening.

Teach them that she will want to turn the lights
off and hide under the covers as soon as you undress her.
Teach your sons’ mouths to say the phrase “You’re beautiful”
with the lights on, her naked body fully visible.

Teach your sons that sex is always optional.
Teach your sons that it is possible to have a relationship without sex.
Teach your sons that they can love whoever they want
that loving another boy, or loving someone who has no gender,
is not a sin.
Teach your sons that they do not have to label
their sexuality, or gender, if they prefer not to.
Teach your sons that it’s okay if they don’t fit
into society’s boxes.

Teach your sons that the “friend zone”
does not exist.
Teach your sons that even though
nice guys finish last,
it’s okay because they sleep better at night.

Teach your sons how to be kind
without expecting anything in exchange.

Teach your sons that women of color are not their sex objects.
Teach your son that it is wrong to be attracted to a woman
simply because of her skin color.

Teach your sons that there is never any justification
for calling a woman a “slut” or a “whore”.
Teach your sons that the proper word
for an independent woman is “strong”
and not “bitch”.

Teach your son that a woman does not dress to please him.
Teach your sons that women do not exist to please them.

6:02 p.m. (My existence is not for you)

This is a response to Andrea Gibson’s poem “Blue Blanket”. In the last line she asks, “Tonight
She’s not asking 
what you’re gonna tell your daughter, 
She’s asking what
you’re going to teach 
your son.”

(via idterab)

(via buddhacoffee)

#omg  #lol  #sigh  #personal  

I wish it was easier to be happy, but I guess it’s true: nothing worth having ever comes easy.

1 week ago on 04/07/14 at 11:37pm

It must be heartbreaking, to work your hardest and be told you’re still not enough. I think it’d kill me.

1 week ago on 04/07/14 at 10:03pm