The things I want conflict with everyone else’s schedules/lives/desires. I hate being in the way. I hate being the source of frustration. I hate conflict.
I know exactly what to do but in a much more real sense I have no idea what to do.
i. we spent the cool edges of the day in limbo. we had money and transportation. we had time and piles of destinations. we had maps and satellites and street signs and nowhere to go.
ii. when the sun came out, wind gave way to children. as if they had been hiding in the shadows, they flooded the square without cue. hastily thrown together games and adventures reigned between towering monuments of history.
iii. i gave you a stolen daisy for your hair. you gave money to a homeless woman who was crying and injured as the daisy melted in the hot city air. we laid in the grass and watched our lives go by briefly in peace. it was the first time i ever felt useful by doing nothing
walk up in the club like “end rape culture, unlearn sexism, question gender, fight back”
maybe it said something
about you that you
wanted to be understood
throw shreds of yourself
at people and hope they
maybe it said something
about me that i
wanted to be loved
skip straight from hello
to kisses under the
my best friend asks me
to tell her about my past.
this is something you are
a part of so somehow i
can’t find the strength to
you you you you you—-
i want to be me again.
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. I want to scream and bruise my fists on a brick wall. I want to punch a mirror and cherish each glassy cut. I want scars where your hands once were; I want brand new skin to replace the me you knew. I want to scream at you and about you and up at the sky. I want to chant over and over, spitting and rasping: I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.
It’s too loud in this house. There are literally only five other people here. I am the old lady below your apartment.
(Get off my lawn)
grace of the word ‘no’ and also being able to say ‘you are not kind’.
the year of humanity/humility.
when the whole world couldn’t get out of bed.
everyone i’ve met this year, says the same thing
‘you are so easy to be around, how do you do that?’.
the year i broke open and dug out all the rot with own hands.
the year i learnt small talk.
and how to smile at strangers.
the year i understood that i am my best when i reach out and ask
‘do you want to be my friend?’.
the year of sugar, everywhere. softness. sweetness.
the year of being alone, and learning how much i like it.
the year of hugging people i don’t know,
because i want to know them.
the year i made peace and love,
right here.” —Warsan Shire (via thegreatfiresoflove)
Holy crap. My grandpa is sorta an asshole.