Louis C.K. (via 30thcenturyboy)
Slavery in the territory that is now the United States lasted more than 330 years. We will be 330 years removed from slavery in the year 2195.
can calm itself,
so can you.
with air.” —Meditation, Nayyirah Waheed (via richmondcee)
when you set the neighborhood girl on fire, she asked for a glass of gasoline on the rocks. you gave her three, and she drank them all peacefully. but that wasn’t enough. you, you and all your local buddies, gathered around for your bonfire, a few drinks and some nighttime smoke, and you all sat around her, kindling her sparks and adding more logs to her bones, more bones to her hollow tree trunk of a body. talked about getting laid and your asshole boss, talked as casually as the girl burned. she listened to you. she did not judge. she even gathered her own firewood, just to hear you talk more, just to keep you from getting up and going to the shed.
just before you go to snuff her out, she asks you, “but didn’t i keep you warm? but didn’t i burn beautifully? but didn’t i burn as pretty as a star?”
you can’t answer her. you can’t put her out. you walk away, giving time the axe and last breath of her flames.
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And people laugh when I tell them women are still invisible in this world.” —
My mom worked for 25 years as an ER nurse and is convinced that a lot of women die simply because folks only know heart attack symptoms that occur in males.
Society thinks our bodies are so scandalous that it’s better to put our lives at risk than to show us how to stay safe
This is the battle of my mind, and this is how I come out of it: scorched but dripping with resolve. I’ll be the gap-toothed champion of the southeast, and men will never dare lay their hands on me again. And I will hear the pretty-eyed boy scream my name as I jump off the dock, and I will find him in the shipwreck. I’ll kiss him hard before the doctor pulls me out of the water. This is what they call a flashback. Can you hear me? You’re okay. You’re here. He pulls me back into the water. He deepens the kiss. His hands at my hips. It’s too much, I say, but I swallow lake water, and his nails lunge into my ribs. I reach out, but I can’t find anything but that old doctor’s hand.
Don’t go back there. We suffer enough in the present—why suffer the past all over again?
I go back, and I drown those two confused lovers forever. Their faces peer up, toothless, from the sand. The dock has never felt higher. And the world has never felt more warm.