Sade Olutola

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Three Goblin Art
ojovivo
KIROKAZE
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Stranger Things

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Andulka
art blog(derogatory)
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
todays bird
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

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Kiana Khansmith
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
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@m-o-ckup
For R
i haven’t felt human in months
my body only moves when its alarmed by a kitchen appliance
this is also the only time i can feel my heartbeat
i long for the days i could feel my rhythm next to yours
clung on your chest
gripping with my fear clenched fists
limbs enmeshed
occasionally sneaking a peak beneath your flesh and chest-bone
to see if there was really treasure inside
cause baby i feel like there is
id bet your last breath on it
“Time slows down right before an accident, and I had time to think about things. I thought about what an undertaker had told me once - that your hair keeps growing, for a while anyway, after you die, and then it stops. I thought, “What keeps it growing? Is it like a plant in soil? What goes out of the soil? The soul? And when does the hair realize that it’s gone?””
— The man who wasn’t there
“they called her witch because she knew how to heal herself.”
— Here We Are, Reflections of a God Gone Mad (2nd edition)
“If you enter into healing, be prepared to lose everything. Healing is a ravaging force to which nothing seems sacred or inviolate. As my original pain releases itself in healing, it rips to shreds the structures and foundations I built in weakness and ignorance.”
— jan phillips
Which side do I live on? Do I even exist at all? #sunnyside#nyc
“I sing holding my severed head, to my dismembered child,”
— Meridel Le Sueur
Mommy
You try to hold my hand, but begin to feel yours instead. Their dated and turn to fist around my wrists, you wait long enough for my pulse and breath to begin to resemble your rhythm.
It does. So much more of you begins to hold me down you become
Weightless
You're over the moon, yet I am on it. Gasping for air.
Weightless.
I, without air. You secretly rejoice
and you can feel the eyes, and return to earth for your routine, public display of affection.
You walk in circles and pray loud enough to the Gods you truly believe in, you have made us altars in hopes we will forget how much of us died for your sins.
so you keep spinning in circles and murmuring long enough to for you, not I, to forget how your love felt like, how it sounded all the times you didn't feel so pretty, or the coffee wasn't hot
I think you too are haunted from all those nights
you treated me like anything or anyone other than a daughter - from dirt to your husband to your mother.
You hid behind a large camera. I remember you filming us, hoping that the recording would help you remember who I was. Not your husband or mother or the dirt.
I didn't live in. A home, I lived in a ring, match after match after match.
Relentless.
As if beating the child out of me, would revive any life in you, or help you salvage any innocent of the decaying battered child within you
My ears still ring from your screams -- too loud to be deafening
Sometimes you would hear our cry and I hear a door slam and engine start you feared nobody else would love you
Even your footsteps to my room can teach lessons.
This was when I learned You are the kind of sorry that serves itself. To feed their own conscience.
You are that kind of Hallmark mother's day card.
Mother Mary full of grace and dollar bills.
One back and you turn face. I don't blame you. But the truth is I lived my whole life having no heartstrings to pull, just hair. It grows more than I do. And no matter how far away I am, I find another you to destroy me. I try to escape through. Cause I am resilient even if I do hide again, in a future bathtub Longing for a memory without the taste of blood in my mouth. I don't find one in time for the past and present to meet on the floor once more.
my legs hollow brittle from your pulseless hand that fucks me in the nightmares i shake away with my limbs pried open sheets muffle the piercing sound of the way my heart and pussy pull themselves apart the night you found i skin myself like a lamb with her rosary beads which i promise only to wear when sucking your cock with a mouth of tears your gentle skin and covert fanged kiss imprints nestles in my neck that you are not lying when you say you are thinking of me. you ask if you can see my eyes when you cum this used to make me wet now i shatter to grains of sand a deserted desert with nothing left but two swollen eyes and a swallowed tongue.
Save Kew Gardens
SAVE KEW GARDENS COALITION by joabarnett
Natasha Lyonne and Samira Wiley at NYC Pride 2016
This is what she does best: makes you sick with the need to help.
“teaching my mother how to give birth” Warsan Shire (via juxtagaysition)
TEARS
Mother says there are locked rooms inside all women, kitchen of love, bedroom of grief, bathroom of apathy. Sometimes, the men, they come with keys, and sometimes the men, they come with hammers.
Warsan Shire (via islamicaphorisms)