Big Butt, Bigger Heart

Be a bitch, bitch. Luv u.

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— Jenny Slate, Little Weirds

[inferior]

Nishe

[helpmypoetryisshit]

There was barbed wire around your tongue. And if you hadn’t left I would have let myself be cut to ribbons.

I MISS THOSE OLD WOUNDS (via helpmypoetryisshit)

[helpmypoetryisshit]

Have you ever looked into the face of God? Had your name drip off his lips like honey? No shame in licking it off Because in that moment, I too was a Goddess Righteous, Raving, Rioting Begging to hear my name drip from his tongue again, To know he was thinking of me. That night I was the one who could make God himself drop to his knees And speak my name, Until our bed was the land of milk and honey. Baby, we created the Promised Land.

The Promised Land (via helpmypoetryisshit)

[70years]

[qvotable]

“Someone can be madly in love with you and still not be ready. They can love you in a way you have never been loved and still not join you on the bridge. And whatever their reasons you must leave. Because you never ever have to inspire anyone to meet you on the bridge. You never ever have to convince someone to do the work to be ready. There is more extraordinary love, more love that you have never seen, out here in this wide and wild universe. And there is the love that will be ready.”

— Nayyirah Waheed

[s-econdssex]

[loversdreamersandyou]

[thatlinearttho]

[insteadofdisappearing]

i don’t care what i do with my life but i’m gonna protect kids i have to

[abduction]

[dark-splendor]

[imposer]

[love]

[latenightcornerstore]

My generation is muddied royalty, like diamonds in the coal mine. They dragged us through the dirt, used our names as scandal. They said we couldn’t, but we are the gods of the subway— Dionysus in skinny jeans— Nemesis in a studio apartment— Hephaestus with his grandmother’s ashes. We may not be sacred, anymore, but we remember Mount Olympus. When the kingdom of heaven fell, we were built from the leftover stratus. Call me whatever you want, but I have crossed the river Styx with the world on my shoulders. We were the gods. We were the titans. We met Zeus at the base of the mountain; we were both sides of the battle field. And tonight, I am Athena with my keys between my fingers. When Apollo drags the sun into the sky, I will follow on foot— thousands of years, into the maw of the leviathan, past the fall of Rome, past the birth of civilization. I will walk backwards into the Big Bang and take my dark matter with me. Because when you force two thousand years of royal lineage into the skin of a nervous, twenty-one year old girl, she learns how to tear down the garden wall and grow her roots into the city. I left home and took the fall of Troy with me. My bones took up arms at the battle of Thermopylae. I was Artemis. I was Ares. And the warfare in my blood does not end in silence. Olympus falls, but the temples go on beating, and I am the patron saint of my own survival, and I have sacrificed everything except my own heartbeat. I grew into this voice, I didn’t have it passed down to me. And I didn’t last a thousand years not to go down swinging—because my generation is the echo of the mountain. We are Thanatos, Hera, Persephone. The gates of the Underworld come crashing at our feet. I am starving for a fight, and I’ve got winged sandals to steady me.

WINGED SANDALS, by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)

[6lacksoul]

[diedhigh]