"All our favorite poets are dead"
©

(i) You will meet a boy whose lips will taste like raspberries
He will ask you to send him pictures of yourself, in your most intimate state
Do not do it, he is poison, he will use them for his own pleasure then leave you wondering
why you aren’t good enough
Your body is beautiful, but your mind is to die for
He is insignificant

(ii) You will be on the beach one day, a popular girl will point out the stretch marks that delicately lick your hips
She will look you in the eyes and laugh
Don’t you dare cover them up
You are a tiger
You have earned your fucking stripes

(iii) Do not confuse lust with love
You might feel like your insides are melting when he touches your thighs
But it will not be worth the pain of you lying on the bathroom floor sobbing at 4am after he finds someone new

(iv) Wear your favourite shoes all the time
It doesn’t matter if they go with your outfit
So what if they’re bright red?
If you love them wear them

(v) Masturbate
Find out what feels good for you
Don’t ever be ashamed either
You need to find out how to bring yourself to climax
So that you can teach him or her just how you like it, don’t waste time

(vi) Be polite, but if you don’t like something you have no obligation to go through with it
‘No’ is a complete sentence
It does not require justification or explanation

(vii) If you meet someone and he cannot come to terms with the fact that hair grows from your legs, your armpits and your vagina then he does not deserve to be within 10ft of you
You are under no obligation to shave

(viii) Your vagina is supposed to smell like a vagina
It is not supposed to smell like a fucking fruit basket
If he says he will not go down on you because he ‘does not like the smell’
Direct him to the door
Tell him to go and fuck a melon

(ix) If you meet a stranger with green hair that sticks up in all the wrong places
Listen to them
Learn from them, drink in their passion and curiosity

(x) Your mistakes do not define you
Don’t let them keep you awake at night

(xi) You do not need someone else to complete you
You are a masterpiece
Stop waiting for a boy to come and sweep you off your feet
Go on dates, to the cinema, to restaurants
It is okay to do things by yourself
You need to know how to be content with being alone

(xii) Your first and last love should always be yourself.

Dear Sixteen Year Old Self // E.E (via be-fearless-brave-and-kind)

This fucking THIS

(via plantum)

I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED
GENOCIDE TO STOP
I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED AFFIRMATIVE
ACTION AND REACTION
I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED MUSIC
OUT THE WINDOWS
I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED
NOBODY THIRST AND NOBODY
NOBODY COLD
I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED I WANTED
JUSTICE UNDER MY NOSE
I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED
BOUNDARIES TO DISAPPEAR
I WANTED
NOBODY ROLL BACK THE TREES!
I WANTED
NOBODY TAKE AWAY DAYBREAK!
I WANTED NOBODY FREEZE ALL THE PEOPLE ON THEIR
KNEES!

I WANTED YOU
I WANTED YOUR KISS ON THE SKIN OF MY SOUL
AND NOW YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME AND I STAND
DESPITE THE TRILLION TREACHERIES OF SAND
YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME AND I HOLD THE LONGING
OF THE WINTER IN MY HAND
YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME AND I COMMIT
TO FRICTION AND THE UNDERTAKING
OF THE PEARL

YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME
YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME

AND I HAVE BEGUN
I BEGIN TO BELIEVE MAYBE
MAYBE YOU DO

I AM TASTING MYSELF
IN THE MOUNTAIN OF THE SUN

— June Jordan, INTIFADA INCANTATION: POEM #8 FOR b.b.L. (via mudras)

“Your soul knew my soul
long before we needed skin
to spend a life in.”

“In order to rise
From its own ashes
A phoenix
First
Must
Burn.”

— Octavia E. Butler, Parable of the Talents (via observando)
withoutyourwalls:

Jenny Holzer

“my skin some days
extends
as wide as the sea
and the waves of the world
roll through, equable
terrible
but I am living this narrow
life and no other
except yours I imagine
some days we’re graced
or grazed by a shared bullet”

— Maureen McLane, “Passage III” (via shrinemaidens)

This is the part where
we stop shaking hands. Where your tongue
unwraps itself from my neck and where my lips
stop crashing into your teeth.

This is the part where
it all turns grey. Where I snort indifference
like cocaine and where I break
the fall.

This is the part where all hell breaks loose.
Words flying,
dishes thrown,
punches taken bruised.
Let me have it all, lover,
I want my skin to smell like you;
remind me how I taste like.
No.

This is the part where
I’m sick of it all.
This is where I shove my fist down my throat
and untangle your name from my veins.
This is the part where I grow up.

Fuck it I left my dignity
down the shower drain and I am not afraid
to puke you out. After this is
the part where I get
up and scrape you from my flesh.
This is the part where you no longer exist
in me,
within me. No.

This is the part where
I fold my laundry, fluff my hair, and
smooth out my skirt.

This is the part where you lose
and this is the part where you realize it.

This is -

retribution.

Sade Andria Zabala  | The End

***

My poetry book Coffee and Cigarettes is available here.

Ships worldwide. Available on amazon. All proceeds go to my fundraiser. 

(via surfandwrite)
artof-poetry:

Poetry by Rasheed Copeland #thecure

“my mother’s trust issues are leaking into my chest
and I’ve got my father’s nose and his tendency to
stop calling back
so I’m sorry
about the 9 missed calls I have from you
and the 6 voicemails I never played
I swear I’d love you if I could”

— (via extrasad)