Ask me anything   My Poetry   

this is what it looks like inside my head

"In San Francisco last year, a man stabbed a woman in the face and arm after she didn’t respond positively to his sexually harassing her on the street.

In Bradenton, Fla., a man shot a high school senior to death after she and her friends refused to perform oral sex at his request.

In Chicago, a scared 15-year-old was hit by a car and died after she tried escaping from harassers on a bus.

Again, in Chicago, a man grabbed a 19-year-old walking on a public thoroughfare, pulled her onto a gangway and assaulted her.

In Savannah, Georgia, a woman was walking alone at night and three men approached her. She ignored them, but they pushed her to the ground and sexually assaulted her.

In Manhattan, a 29-year-old pregnant woman was killed when men catcalling from a van drove onto the sidewalk and hit her and her friend.

Last week, a runner in California — a woman — was stopped and asked, by a strange man in a car, if she wanted a ride. When she declined he ran her over twice.

FUCK YOU if you think that street harassment is a “compliment” or “no big deal” or that it’s “irrational” of us to be afraid because “what’s actually gonna happen.” Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you some more."
— 8 hours ago with 197523 notes

THE HUMANS DO IT ALL THE TIME, IT MEANS YOU’RE A GOOD BOY

THE HUMANS DO IT ALL THE TIME, IT MEANS YOU’RE A GOOD BOY

(Source: cineraria, via thedaintysquid)

— 11 hours ago with 878007 notes
theparisreview:

I crawled over the dark groundplanting squash, an owlover my shoulder, the moon
she throws back her head, stretchesher arms hands, ripple of muscleskin, the moon
clouds, shadowsbetween usthe ground mostly lighted
the flower first, fruitfull & roundedthe softest curve, ripple, moon
the laughter very soft
“I get crazy in the full moon”
—James Keller, from “Four Poems.”Art: Paul Gauguin.

theparisreview:

I crawled over the dark ground
planting squash, an owl
over my shoulder, the moon

she throws back her head, stretches
her arms hands, ripple of muscle
skin, the moon

clouds, shadows
between us
the ground mostly lighted

the flower first, fruit
full & rounded
the softest curve, ripple, moon

the laughter very soft

“I get crazy in the full moon”

James Keller, from “Four Poems.”
Art: Paul Gauguin.

— 1 day ago with 173 notes

jesusxarmenta:

Dreams - Fleetwood Mac

Now here you go again
You say you want your freedom
Well, who am I to keep you down?
It’s only right that you should
Play the way you feel it

(Source: icedpetal, via caseylee)

— 1 day ago with 3176 notes
The FFP:What urgent advice would you give emerging poets?
Latasha N. Nevada Diggs:Don’t take this shit too seriously. Seriously. Write because you love it. Don’t believe the hype of your first book having to be published right after you graduate. Live first. Get your heart broken more than three times. Get evicted. Be loyal but fuck up sometimes. Concern yourself with only those who believe in you. Go dancing. Learn to dance. Latin Quarters is five bucks before 7 and all the pros hang there. Party promoter Voodoo Ray does parties down in LES. Go dancing. Aside from that, create your community. What does it look like? How can you help other folks? Challenge yourself. In the words of Bill T. Jones: use yourself or you will be used. Always remember: dance.
— 1 day ago with 221 notes
wonderlandtattoospdx:

Constellation map with floral wreath, by Kirsten Holliday

wonderlandtattoospdx:

Constellation map with floral wreath, by Kirsten Holliday

(via caseylee)

— 2 days ago with 7992 notes
theparisreview:

Peripheral
Maybe it’s a bat’s wingsat the corner of your eye, rightwhere the eyeball swivelsinto its pocket. But whenthe brown of your eye turnswhere you thought the white saw,there’s only air & gold light,reality—as your mother defined it—(milk/no milk). Not for yearsdid you learn the word longing,and only then did you see the bat—just the fringe of its wingsbeating, its back in a heavyblack cloak.
—Toi Derricotte. Photography: Tamas Dezso.

theparisreview:

Peripheral

Maybe it’s a bat’s wings
at the corner of your eye, right
where the eyeball swivels
into its pocket. But when
the brown of your eye turns
where you thought the white saw,
there’s only air & gold light,
reality—as your mother defined it—(milk/no milk). Not for years
did you learn the word longing,
and only then did you see the bat—
just the fringe of its wings
beating, its back in a heavy
black cloak.

Toi Derricotte. Photography: Tamas Dezso.

— 2 days ago with 186 notes

beneviolentskytreader:

"Creation"

working on a piece to go with this 

(via jstellar)

— 2 days ago with 21740 notes
"I remember standing in a field in Switzerland at dusk, surrounded by cows with bells around their necks, and reading John Keats’ “Ode to a Nightingale” out loud from an open book I was holding in my hands, and I started to weep — weep is a better word for it than cry — and I remember the tears slowly streaming down my face, it was that beautiful to me, and I loved poetry that much. I was eighteen."
Mary Ruefle, from “I Remember, I Remember,” Madness, Rack, & Honey (via commovente)
— 4 days ago with 508 notes
mikeadamstattoo:

Mike Adams
Homestead tattoo
Frederick Maryland

mikeadamstattoo:

Mike Adams
Homestead tattoo
Frederick Maryland

(via ourendlessdays)

— 4 days ago with 488 notes
japaneseaesthetics:

Wood Netsuke of a hare.  Artist Ranko, 19th century, Japan.

japaneseaesthetics:

Wood Netsuke of a hare.  Artist Ranko, 19th century, Japan.

(via douglasmartini)

— 4 days ago with 344 notes