Maybe love is in New York City, already asleep. You are in California, Australia, wide awake. Maybe love is always in the wrong time zone. Maybe love is not ready for you. Maybe you are not ready for love. Maybe love just isn’t the marrying type. Maybe the next time you see love is twenty years after the divorce–love looks older now, but just as beautiful as you remember. Maybe love is only there for a month. Maybe love is there for every firework, every birthday party, every hospital visit.
Maybe love stays. Maybe love can’t. Maybe love shouldn’t.
Love arrives exactly when love is supposed to, and love leaves exactly when love must. When love arrives say, “Welcome, make yourself comfortable.” If love leaves, ask her to leave the door opened behind her. Turn off the music. Listen to the quiet. Whisper, “Thank you for stopping by.
Artistic expression, sex, and truth are the only things that really matter.
Pt. 1. Memories
Like thin sharp blades
carve out questions
leave sharp-toothed runnels like
angling across my yesterdays
I think of you and know
there must be some joke I
missed out on
It feels better
and worse all at once
to think that maybe
I was an adventitious prop with character
An early chapter in your
You fit into a doctrine I
clung to in childhood
Vindication spoke to me through our rapture
soil beneath my feet
I felt laughter in my veins when we fit -
It’s cracked and
like an aging book’s spine
The story has
I don’t remember you
as much as I
remember how I felt beside you
sometimes small and inconsequential as smoke
most times heavier and
more vast than you knew how to hold
I hate using the word
here at all
This is about I
and how falling through the floor of my own heart feels
The desert I’ve become
The broken spigot in the
middle of a drought
and suddenly there is only
white noise and
The mile wide echoes will
drive me mad in here
The neon lit vacuum of
bright signs over closed shops shining in
through white washed windows
A single lonesome set of footsteps on the sidewalk below
3:15 tosses and turns
I’m a ghost town beneath these clothes
A map of handprints in cement
A fading picture hoisted high onto a
shelf of forgotten curios
I barely feel it now when my
face is wet
I haven’t much gotten used to the quiet.
I can’t go on sleeping alone
Here in the dimness of
my room and
I left myself somewhere in your baggage
Threw me out with your t-shirts and trinkets
Left her there because I am
too tired to face you or your
I hate using the word
here at all
This is about I
and how I’m worried I misplaced her
looking for the next best thing
I’m missing parts of
who I used to be
and in their absence
the gulf is big enough to hide away
but too full of holes to fill me
fly off the side of the earth if I could
be too far from the ground by choice
Empty the rest of me like dust
against the darkness
and be all nothing
instead of part someone
A gentleman knows that sometimes it isn’t about being on top or on bottom; it isn’t about control or consent- it’s simply about the quickest way to bring you pleasure.
A gentleman woo’s with his intellect before he touches with his hands.A gentleman fulfills his part of the deal.
Slave-owner's wife requests $1000 from an escaped slave who made his way to freedom with their horse.
While I was reading the letters, I didn’t realize I had stopped breathing until I got to the end and exhaled loudly.
You say you have offers to buy me, and that you shall sell me if I do not send you $1000, and in the same breath and almost in the same sentence, you say, “you know we raised you as we did our own children.” Woman, did you raise your own children for the market?
This may be the first historical record of something literally giving me life. I did a praise dance and everything after this.
I definitely did a Pentecostal Shout Dance in my office while reading it.
All I thought was “Dis bitch.”
Can we discuss how this Black former slave was a MUCH BETTER writer than the contemptuous white woman who was demanding either $1000 or his freedom, all while ridiculing him about having SOLD his family??
Also, HE READ THAT BITCH FOR BLOOD!!!!
Just a reminder
Tea Party Comix
They really don’t care about us…
What the fucking hell is this
…since when do black people smell? i’ve never, ever heard that stereotype.
I bet they said that these cartoon aren’t racist
Isn’t that interesting.
Tumblr emailed me to tell me they deleted my post calling out the dude who sent me a rape threat.
But hasn’t banned the dude who sent me a rape threat, even though I reported him.
I guess Tumblr just wants to make their site safer for people who send rape threats than those who receive them.
I guess it’s not considered harassment to send rape threats, but if you name the person who sends you rape threats, you are harassing them.
Signal boost the fuck out of this. Let’s make tumblr’s moderation team feel fucking ashamed for letting this happen. Let’s fucking make them question their worth and ability and place in the world and make them feel like the utter sacks of fucking shit they are until they fucking fix this and every case like this.
they didn’t just delete the content, when they say they “removed” it, they mean they took it off the blogs of every single person that reblogged it too