“ Just because it is period literature doesn’t mean it’s not racist. ”
Someone finally fucking said it.
Can’t believe someone used the “finally fucking said it” in an appropriate context.
Because OMG seriously when a modern thing is racist, and there’s ALWAYS that person who says, “OH BUT IT’S BASED ON THIS OLDER THING” and i’m like YEAH THAT OLDER THING IS RACIST AS FUCK.
Me when I get home from work.
I was 14 and madly in love for the first time. He was 21. He made me suddenly, unaccustomedly beautiful with his kisses and mix tapes. During the year of elation and longing, he never mentioned that he had a girlfriend who lived across the street. A serious girl. A girl his age. A girl he loved. Unlike inappropriate, high school, secret me.
The next time, I was 15 visiting a friend at college. It was a friend’s friend’s boyfriend who looked like Jim Morrison and wore leather pants and burned candles and incense. She was at work and I wanted him to touch me. She found out. I don’t know what happened after that.
I was 19 and he was my boyfriend’s arch-rival. I was 20 and it was my lover’s girlfriend and we had to lie because otherwise he always wanted to watch. I was 24 and her girlfriend knew about it but then changed her mind about the open relationship. We saw each other anyway. I was 30 and we wanted each other but were committed to other people; the way we look at each other still scorches the walls. I turned thirty-something and pointedly wasn’t invited to a funeral/a wedding/a baby shower because of a rumor.
I am a few years older now and I know this: There are tastes of mouths I could not have lived without; there are times I’ve pretended it was just about the sex because I couldn’t stand the way my heart was about to burst with happiness and awe and I couldn’t be that vulnerable, not again, not with this one. That waiting to have someone’s stolen seconds can burn you alive. That the shittiest thing you can do in the world is lie to someone you love; also that there are certain times you have no other choice – not honoring this fascination, this car crash of desire, is also a lie. That there is power in having someone risk everything for you. That there is nothing more frightening than being willing to take this free-fall. That it is not as simple as we were always promised. Love – at least the pair-bonded, prescribed love – does not conquer all.
Arrow, meet heart. Apple, meet Eve.”
Daphne Gottlieb, from “Let’s Just Get This Out in the Open” (via fleurishes)
“ Isn’t it strange? There are so many people out there who secretly love someone. And there are so many people out there who have no idea that someone secretly loves them. ”
my transformation into a bitter angry old woman is almost complete
"Open books, not legs" is the dumbest shit ever like
if I wanna read then I’ll read
and if I wanna fuck then I’ll fuck
and if I wanna rest my book against a hot guy’s head while he puts it between my spread legs then I’m gonna fucking do that bye
“ If you consider a woman less pure after you’ve touched her, maybe you should take a look at your hands. ”
I would kill you.
a long breath escapes from a place I didn’t know was holding one.
I would kill you.
I would slice your throat open wide like a pair
spilling a scarlet wave, such scarlet rage
bubbles to the surface,
breaking open in the thick air
pleas granted mercifully for a quick release.
every single fucking memory,
every single fucking shooting pain that travels down
to my fingertips
when I am reminded of your violence
in every other boy that looks too imploringly
when asking if
I love them,
says they will
and I gasp.
I clutch my thigh so tightly my nails make
half moons in the milky skin,
you’ll be so proud that I won’t ever forget you.
and your touch will always press so fucking
into each aching layer of pale flesh
that I won’t ever actually feel another’s
unless they find a way to press harder
than you did.
and if they do,
(and they have)
I will be certain that I could never
lick these wounds clean.