‘And why do you?’
‘The sky and the sand and the sea and Corr.’ — Maggie Stiefvater; The Scorpio Races (via hemingwayheroine)
Me trying to hold a normal conversation with my crush
Daisy Lola (via fullybalanced)
I’m dancing at a nightclub
when someone behind me
places a hand on my shoulder.
I assume it’s a friend until
the hand slides down my chest.
Boiling with gin and rage
I grab his wrist, whip around,
and punch him in the jaw.
It doesn’t land well—
I’ve never hit anyone before—
so I punch him in the gut,
just for good measure.
I look at him doubled over and spit
Never do that to a woman again,
and then I run. My friends laugh in the cab:
You punched a guy!
but I sit silent and burning.
In Crown Heights, in Union Square,
in South Williamsburg: men leer and
whistle and smack their lips.
I ignore them, or flip them off,
or tell them I’m married.
When they purr que guapa
I yell callate and they all laugh.
I can’t tell if they’re laughing at me
for being a white girl speaking bad
Spanish, or at the idea that anything
I say might actually shut them up.
In my impotent rage I dream of a world
where I am not public property. I would
start wars for my right to walk down a street
unafraid, a thousand wars for a single day
in which my body belongs to me alone.
An army raised against each cat call. A bullet
for every man who ever told me to smile.
This Poem Will Get Me On Some Kind Of Watchlist, Jessie Lochrie, 2013. (via grammatolatry)
Relevant to what happened to me last night, when I had to break my beer bottle on the Marble Hill Metro North train platform when two men circled me and threatened to sexually assault me. It was the most powerful I’ve ever felt in my life, and I’m glad I know now what my reaction is when confronted with that shit. I will slit your fucking throats with a broken beer bottle, fuckers. Don’t forget it.
Every time I have a “quiet night in”
How it starts:
How it ends: