Tonderai

What comes naturally.

[urbanoutfucks]

I don’t understand why some people aren’t okay with sitting at home doing nothing like why do you need to be with your friends constantly don’t you ever want time to yourself jesus christ

[psych-facts]

I am homesick for a place I am not sure even exists. One where my heart is full. My body loved. And my soul understood.

(via queenxkimberly)

[outsidaer-deactivated20190714]

I believe in boys with sad eyes and soft smiles. I believe in girls who roar back at the thunder and still kiss like the first time they fell in love. I believe in the people who’s skin never felt like home to them, so they carved home out of the dust beneath their shoes and kept on going. I believe in all the ones who are told they don’t belong. I don’t think I belong either. I don’t know what it means to “belong” but I know the ones shouting have nothing to offer, that fitting in is the fad diet we’re all starving ourselves to. I believe in us. The ones who have never felt good enough. I believe in the girl next door, who likes to be called “her” but who woke up, today, with a gender that felt like hand spun wool and spilled milk, and who still doesn’t know how to tell her mother. I believe in the ones dating the wrong people so their parents won’t have to know who it is they want to love. I believe in a fear like that. I believe in the kindness of strangers and I believe that turning a blind eye isn’t what makes you bad. It only makes you scared like the rest of us. I believe people learn to be brave. I believe in the hands picking flowers as much as I believe in the hands that plant them. Because sometimes our hearts are too big for our bodies and they like to go bumping against each other– sometimes, love doesn’t mean what you think it does. You and I don’t love the same, but we are, all of us, out here loving. I believe in the collection of fingerprints you pick up from everything in the world you have ever touched. If I believe in anything, I believe that that is enough. ―Ashe Vernon

artwork by Kaethe Butcher Illustrations

[diaryorpoetry]

You always looked so uncomfortable in your skin like you wanted to cut yourself out and put me in just for a moment so I could feel how thin life felt when everyone you loved treated you like sin.

Excerpt, Skin -Tonderai (via diaryorpoetry)

[ocheano]

My problem is that you are my solution

(via ocheano)

[diaryorpoetry]

Mind full of fantasies, But no one to live them out with

diaryorpoetry

[psych-facts]

A big part of emotional intelligence is being able to feel an emotion without having to act on it.

(via psych-facts)

[diaryorpoetry]

"For how long do we stay trapped in oblivion of the realities and responsibilities that will positively shape the face of our society? For how long?"

Ifeoma Theodore Jnr, E

[diaryorpoetry]

it happens the second you percieve me

your eyes rise and get caught by my hair

notice it’s not like yours, it’s kinky and

seems to be growing in the wrong direction

your eyes drop and rest on my cheek

the wrong colour: confirmed

you once over my clothes: of course

crop top, sneakers, i couldn’t have learned

-decision already made.

your eyes are suddenly absolutely empty

averted

i don’t need to ask to know

if you say anything at all, it will be no

you’re already looking for the next middle-aged man with more

desirable skin

to have your superiority asserted.

i feel the bile rise

close my eyes and relax my tingling limbs

i will not be driven to violence today, by your sins.

they say difference in colour is only in the skin

but i know that’s not always true

it’s not the case with me and you

I’m brown on the outside, but red deeper in

you are white through and through

because you are cold as ice on the inside, too.

[afadthatlastsforever]

Dreaming of you is a little like listening to the song inside a sea shell—you can’t see the waves or smell the salt but its call can make you feel like you’re there by the ocean. I know you’re not really here. But when you miss a thing this badly, even the illusion is enough.

Beau Taplin // S e a  S h e l l  S o n g s (via afadthatlastsforever)

[yomilewa-deactivated20210410]

“Her beauty cannot be defined by the standards of a colonized mind.”

[naijaabynature]

Wow wow wow😍😍😍

[beyondthebedlam]

this is the sort of woman wars are started over

[soleilnia]

MY ASPIRATIONS

[timotaychalamet]

[sistersoil]

praying that i age like the flowers do, more beautiful with every day and change and even the death leaves in awe.

[quotedbook]

I am riding in the passenger seat, listening to my mother talk about the ways love has failed her. She has been called “wife” by four men, “girlfriend” by eight names she has slipped into conversation, “lover” by strangers I will never meet. When I curiously ask, “Why stay married if you’re unhappy?”, she goes stiff. ‘You don’t understand,’ she says defensively. ‘You’re just a kid.’ I am seventeen the first time a boy mentions marriage to me. We are giddy from the idea of gaining light by revealing our dark to each other. We have no idea that one day, when we are sharing a bed, we will look forward to getting away from each other in sleep. At nineteen, I am doodling in the margins of my college notebook, when my teacher says, ‘Second marriages have a 67% chance of ending in divorce. Third marriages have a 73% chance. And if you’re on your fourth, well, really, what are you doing?’ I think of my mother in her fourth unhappy marriage. I think of my father in his fifth. I wonder if picking myself up and trying again is in my genes. I do not pick myself up and try again when I learn that I am not going to marry the first person I loved. I pack my tiny world into two suitcases while he is at work and leave the photos of us to die on his wall. I write lots of shitty poetry and tell my ghosts to ‘keep quiet’ when I think nobody is listening. The next time a boy knocks on my chest and asks, ‘How deep do you go?’ I do not show him. I say, ‘Infinitely’ and leave when he complains about the spaces in me he will not be able to fill up. My ninety-year old grandma, with her silver hips and bullet-wound lips, tells me, in a thick accent, that ‘Nice girls should be married.’ For years, I watched her treat love as the greatest task on her ‘to-do list,’ always cooking and cleaning to keep the relationship alive. But I am too weak, too selfish, too young to carry the weight of love. And I am trying to first settle the disorder in my head before I think about being sharing my bed.

Lora Mathi, Forever Is Too Large To Promise (via quotedbook)

[novr-deactivated20190712]

[thissilentstorm]

Elevated

Your strong arms showed me the Only way to succeed was to not Underestimate myself but rather

Listen to the criticism of others when Inside it hurts to hear, and though I Feel ruined and worthless, I should Take those words and with them    Make a new beginning, to build an Escape from my sorrow and rise above,

Unrestrained, to soar with the eagles Protected always by your love.

[kadonkadiekay]

I am not the sum of lovers I had or never had. As for lovers who left, consider them hair. Sometimes you cut it off for it to grow longer and more beautiful (but that doesn’t mean you hate pictures of yourself with it). Even after lovers you remain Beautiful

- Tapiwa Mugabe 💕