hypothesis: somewhere, there are suns that group into prayer circles and sing our names. somewhere, there are places to be without letting go of home. there are kisses without touching and touching without naked and naked without speaking. somewhere, somehow, there is a body much like yours, valleys that bend and rise much like yours, toes that sink into sand and soil much like yours, speaking words much like yours. somewhere there are boys in wooden sandals and prisons with no bars, and somewhere there are people who wait for us to catch up, always waiting for us to catch up.
experiment: mix green apple vodka into your sleep tonight. dream of loving yourself. dream of building a throne out of every bone that has wronged yours. dip yourself into saltwater, listen to yourself prune. be nothing but silent, let silent be nothing but you. name the blades of grass. name them Caitlyn and Azra and Colleen and Annalise. name them Venus and Mars and Mercury. be your own inhospitable planet. leave room in your bed for no one. let them earn it. leave room on your skin for no one. let them earn it. go. run. run.
conclusion: this is everywhere we will ever be. this heart is where the home is. this heart is where the house is, with cracked shingles and rusty hinges and a kitchen that smells of dough always. this is where our parents made us. this is where our parents thought of us first, this is where they saw the idea of a shared result in each other’s eyes, in each other’s hems and necklines and sudden bareness. this place is brilliant, baby. this is not a science, this cannot be measured or calculated or poured into beakers. this is the air between fingers, this is stretch marks and lovin’ it. this is castle all to yourself, this is chasing things that are not there and fucking lovin’ it." — "This is Not a Science" by Ramna Safeer (via inkywings)
i can not choose between.
you and the poem.
and if i must. it will be the poem.
if i must.
it was not love.
love does not ever want
hungry. for my own
flowers. performing self surgeries on my bone in a bed. starving myself
of my own touch.
for yours." — nayyirah waheed (via nayyirahwaheed)
when you listen to a song for the first time aND YOU JUST KNOW
Maybe if period pain burned calories it would be worth it