my mom taught me the therapeutic power of cleaning. open all the windows. throw out the old. wipe down the entire house. burn some incense. roast some coffee. then rest. that way the tears from last night don’t feel as heavy.
written by Kanye West
written by Azra.T “Don’t Wait Three Days to Text First.” (via lullabysounds)
i am not the story
you have been told.
i am not pure
i am not your fantasy
of an innocent you can corrupt.
you think he took me?
you think i knew not what i did
when i laughed and placed those crimson seeds
upon my tongue?
do not mistake my kindness
i am forest fires and flower buds
i am poisonous thorns and newborn foals
i am death and rebirth—
cross me at your peril.
(you shall find that pretty rose vines
are just as lovely when they wrap tight over your limbs
and shatter your bones.)
my lord, he brings me bloodstained flowers,
and i give him kisses laced with venom
he gifts me graveyards to plant my orchids
and i send him the torn heads of men
who wrong my maidens.
(i teach them combat alongside botany. both are arts.)
he rules with iron fist and i
with gentle touch.
we live and love in a curious harmony
of sweet birdsong
and the tortured screams of sinners.
come springtide i am bound to earth,
to my mother’s sunfilled meadows
her unequivocal, enduring love.
and by the fading light of summer
i return to my lover’s onyx walls
and cimmerian heart.
i cherish both but they know
they would have no claim on me if i did not desire it
for i belong to myself,
i am only my own—
half flowering creation,
half blistering hellfire.
he calls me his lady
but he knows
i am a queen.
written by persephone speaks, by a.c. (via stilesies)
since when did “i wanna hear your voice” not become a good excuse?
calling you three in the morning, laugh at sleep that we’ll both lose
flood people with compliments. make eye contact. don’t be the first one to let go of a hug. push yourself to run faster and further. listen intentionally.
Do it without expecting anything in return. Give generously without selfish gain.
Remember that intimate conversation you had with your son? The one where you said, “I love you and I need you to know that no matter how a woman dresses or acts, it is not an invitation to cat call, taunt, harass or assault her”?
Or when you told your son, “A woman’s virginity isn’t a prize and sleeping with a woman doesn’t earn you a point”?
How about the heart-to-heart where you lovingly conferred the legal knowledge that “a woman doesn’t have to be fighting you and you don’t have to be pinning her down for it to be RAPE. Intoxication means she can’t legally consent, NOT that she’s an easy score.”
Or maybe you recall sharing my personal favorite, “Your sexual experiences don’t dictate your worth just like a woman’s sexual experiences don’t dictate hers.”
Last but not least, do you remember calling your son out when you discovered he was using the word “slut” liberally? Or when you overheard him talking about some girl from school as if she were more of a conquest than a person?
I want you to consider these conversations and then ask yourself why you don’t remember them. The likely reason is because you didn’t have them. In fact, most parents haven’t had them.
written by The Conversation You Must Have With Your Sons | Carina Kolodny (via sanityscraps)