Writing as therapy

Using my writing as my therapy because creativity and expression is the romance of life

“I am homesick for a place I am not sure even exists. One where my heart is full. My body loved. And my soul understood.”

—   (via thetearablepaperheart)

Yes.

(Source: psych-facts, via bruisedkneesclub)

clementinevonradics:

Grief is not unlike whiskey
in that it makes me aware I am not behaving
like everyone else, and equally powerless
to stop it.

“Chloe hated puberty.
Ever since her body started changing,
everyone looks at her like a meal to be devoured.
She is not allowed to play football anymore.
Her clothes fit differently now. Her body demands to be seen.
Her hips are an ever expanding universe. Her chest
a mountain range men wanted to claim as their own.
Two weeks ago she looked down and saw blood
slowly booming and ruining her white skirt.
And her heart, her heart
wild like untamed horses stampeding
through her veins.

Chloe hated this new body.
How it changed without her permission,
bled, softened, rid her
of her own innocence.
And just when it couldn’t get any worse…
The Zombie Apocolypse happened.

Suddenly there was chaos! Riots in the street!
People were looting. Evacuations were ordered in every major city.
The President ate the first lady’s face on national television!
And ever since that dude attacked her
in a Blockbuster video, Chloe doesn’t feel shit.
Her body doesn’t change for anyone.
Sure, she may lose an eye, or an arm,
but it’s all in her relentless quest for brains.

Now, instead of chasing down Jason Prestin
To accidentally “Bump into him” on the way to his locker,
Chloe eats brains.

Instead of shrinking her body away from the grown men
Who look at her like a cherry they can’t wait to eat up
Chloe eats brains.

Her body is green and ambered over and her heart
Is resting in the stomach of whoever tore it from her chest
Between the science fiction aisle and the comedy aisle.

Now, Chloe is not afraid, Chloe is in control.
You do not devour Chloe. Chloe devours you.”

“I am figuring out which parts of my personality are mine 
and which ones I created to please you.”

—   The Dust On This Poem Could Choke You/ Lora Mathis lora-mathis (via possibilityofliving)

(via clementinevonradics)

Not a ballet recital but back to school night
My drawing of me singing pow-wow

“When a boy agrees that a girl is intimidating, he is saying that she is nothing but gusty air: powerful, distructive and meaningless. A man doesn’t get intimidated by a woman. He should rather say that she is challenging, like those of the abstract paintings along a museum’s wall. He might not wholly understand the depth, but it is sure that it bears meaning in it as every stroke resembles her soul. He is sure that indeed she is a wonderful work of art, worthy to be handled with care, worthy of safekeeping.”

—   ch. (via grisamores)

Yes.

The worst part of outfitting our police officers as soldiers has been psychological. Give a man access to drones, tanks, and body armor, and he’ll reasonably think that his job isn’t simply to maintain peace, but to eradicate danger. Instead of protecting and serving, police are searching and destroying.

If officers are soldiers, it follows that the neighborhoods they patrol are battlefields. And if they’re working battlefields, it follows that the population is the enemy. And because of correlations, rooted in historical injustice, between crime and income and income and race, the enemy population will consist largely of people of color, and especially of black men. Throughout the country, police officers are capturing, imprisoning, and killing black males at a ridiculous clip, waging a very literal war on people like Michael Brown.

Poetry from abroad: Turkey July 8, 2014

hakimbe:

Poetry from abroadTuesday, 08 July 2014

Image
New Mexico poet Hakim Bellamy ruminates with his pen during visit to Turkey
By Hakim Bellamy
If you believe everything the news tells you about Muslim countries, you might find it difficult to believe that one of the most…

Word.

I Will Never Stop Loving H.E.R.

wordsoftakumi:

a poem for Hip-Hop

Kendrick Lamar splits open monsters
and fights on the virtue that to get stronger,
you only go to battle with armies
that are capable of stampede.
Those who tread lightly are not worthy
of your warpath.

Lupe Fiasco ties his tongue into a
cat’s cradle…

I still love H.E.R.