i want to write

I want to write so bad… I have so much to say_ I want you to read all of the things I want to write_ about you about me about the whole world_ too bad there’s no more ink in my black pen_ I could write about everything you said_ the songs you’ve sang_ the poetic works you’ve inspired_ but I can’t because I’ve ran out of black ink in my pen… So I’ll just in scribe it in my minded, then I won’t forget it

wow i wrote this sometime last year, i was so inspired

Sex without Love

mendingbones:

How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other’s bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the

34 Excuses for Why We Failed at Love

apoemaday:

by Warsan Shire

1. I’m lonely so I do lonely things
2. Loving you was like going to war; I never came back the same.
3. You hate women, just like your father and his father, so it runs in your blood.
4. I was wandering the derelict car park of your heart looking for a ride home.
5. You’re a…

how far have you walked for men who’ve never held your feet in their laps?
how often have you bartered with bone, only to sell yourself short?
why do you find the unavailable so alluring?
where did it begin? what went wrong? and who made you feel so worthless?
if they wanted you, wouldn’t they have chosen you?
all this time, you were begging for love silently, thinking they couldn’t hear you, but they smelt it on you, you must have known that they could taste the desperate on your skin?
and what about the others that would do anything for you, why did you make them love you until you could not stand it?
how are you both of these women, both flighty and needful?
where did you learn this, to want what does not want you?
where did you learn this, to leave those that want to stay?

Warsan Shire (via whatsefuck)

susie knuckles in love

oddballsdontbounce:

i think i met all the
wrong men before
you and i think they
ruined me but i
think you’re really
handsome the way
a map is handsome,
with skin wide open
soaked in the whole
world’s ink. i
think i’m done pulling
paint off the walls i
think i want to read
you the names of
every city that ever
burned down, i think
we’d like it there.

“You want me to be a tragic backdrop so that you can appear to be illuminated, so that people can say ‘Wow, isn’t he so terribly brave to love a girl who is so obviously sad?’ You think I’ll be the dark sky so you can be the star? I’ll swallow you whole.” 
― Warsan Shire

Dear Future Daughter:

1) When you’re at some party, chain smoking on the roof with some strange girl with blue hair and exorbitant large dark eyes, ask her about her day. I promise you, you won’t regret it. Often times you’ll find the strangest of people have the most captivating of stories to tell.

2) Please, never mistake desire for love. Love will engulf your soul, whilst desire will emerge as acid, slowly making it’s way through your veins, gradually burning you from the inside out.

3) No one is going to fucking save you, anything you’ve read or heard otherwise is bullshit.

4) One day a boy is going to come along who’s touch feels like fire and who’s words taste like vanilla, when he leaves you, you will want to die. If you know anything at all, know that it is only temporary.

5) Your mental health comes before school baby, always. If its midnight, and you have an exam the next day but your hands have been shaking for the past hour and a half and you’re not so sure you want to be alive anymore, pull out that carton of Ben and Jerry’s and afterwards, go the fuck to bed. So what if you get a 68% on the exam the next day? You took care of yourself and at the end of the day that will always come before a high test score. To hell with anyone who tells you differently.

Abbie Nielsen  (via harrycmon)

cc @beatz_007

(via nal-paranavitana)

“The Israelite”


You are hauntingly breathtaking,
Achingly beautiful,
One look at you equals 1000 backstrokes in the sea,
you make drowning seem like a gift.


I thaw at the thought of holding you,
I dissolve into to gasoline, match and tyres at every possibility of you and me,
I will not even speak of kissing you,
I bury myself at the thought of your parting lips,
You are both Moses’ rod and the red sea,
You are my promised land.

(via gaykindalove)

I fell in love with wearing black
as if I was mourning
Did away with the need to make my dressing a metaphor
Has my skin not been turned into a symbol for solidarity?
(already)….(enough)
This skin black oil
My inherited legacy
Mother tattooed me from head to feet with assegai’s and pyramids
Before i discovered the engenuity of weaver bird nests in my mouth
My heart was as hard as guava seed
Discovered and lost god in whisky bottles
Budding iconoclast with a heart full of leniency
A Uhuru child
Stone house son
My war of reformation
A rebirthing of my ancestors in my mind

stone house son - Tapiwa Mugabe, tapiwamugabe.tumblr.com

(via tapiwamugabe)

if this is the i tapiwa i know… then i’m really moved by your words