Uzodinma Iweala, “Stop Trying to ‘Save’ Africa”
(via cammyyy)
Snatched.
Olivia slaying.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edge
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.
This is how we heal.
I will kiss you like forgiveness. You
will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. I will write novels to the scar
on your nose. I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.
And I will not be afraid
of your scars.
I know sometimes
it’s still hard to let me see you
in all your cracked perfection,
but please know:
whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.
On cue, I stop chewing. She looks at me, waiting for my face to flush, for me to tear from the bed, but I won’t get mad at her. She shouldn’t have to explain why we can’t go swimming in public, why I don’t own a razor, why she doesn’t need to buy birth control. She hangs up the phone; I pick up the fruit, tell her Apparently, there’s a tiny amount of cyanide in apple seeds.
She shrugs, says she can handle a little danger, but I’ve studied how her dimples disappear when she lies, and I know she’s thinking about a man she could parade around her family, who could kiss her scratchy with stubble. The kind of man I’ll never be.
She squeezes my hand in the movie theater dark but tosses it to the side in front of her friends. Says she just needs time. She walks on the sidewalk. I walk in the street. She closes the door. I kiss it goodnight. She goes home for Thanksgiving. I promise not to call.
If I were a postcard, she could hide me in her pocket. If I were clay, she could mold my body into something easier to love. If I were the guy who sells her a cup of coffee every morning. I could smile at her anonymously, safe as a stranger.
She kisses down my neck, my peel hiding the rotten fruit inside me. As I tell her about the cyanide, her head resting on my chest, she talks about cider, autumn pies. See, she says, Apples are harmless. But she saves the last bites for me, scared to let her lips wander too close to the core.
you know, i’m a raging lesbian and i was never distracted by what other girls in my classes were wearing in high school. this is a male problem, not an “attracted to women” problem.
This is an “inability to respect women” problem.
Which is a male problem.
This is a rape culture problem.
white people are fun as hell to play with. like when their skin is red and you press it it turns white then goes back to red.
Steph, look!
Want this life.
PSA to Wellesley College, stop treating me like a child, like I’m incompetent, or using princess as a descriptor to mean that I am weak, spoiled, selfish, or incapable.
ELLE Magazine & Tod’s Celebrate Kerry Washington’s ELLE Magazine cover
omg what is happening to this pug.
This will introduce you to a color you’ve probably never seen before.
True “Cyan”. Usually most people find it an ugly color, or just an ordinary light blue. BUT! Computers and TVs dilute the actual appearance of cyan and when you see it, its fucking awesome.
SO! Stare at the white dot for 2 minutes. Just as long as you can. The circle will get fuzzy and youll start to see a ring forming. Back your head up slowly and look around the edge of the circle.
Craziest, best blue Ive ever seen.
CLICK FOR FULL SIZE. MAKES IT 13249140192 TIMES BETTER
