WHERE THE HEAVEN ARE WE

"I can feel this heart inside me and I conclude it exists. I can touch this world and I also conclude that it exists. All my knowledge ends at this point. The rest is hypothesis." by Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus
(via wordsnquotes)

(Source: wordsnquotes.com, via wordsnquotes)

"the year of pink skies. of carrying orange rinds in my back pocket for good luck. of bad tarot readings and even worse astrology predictions. the year the stars couldn’t plan out. where i took control of the reins. the year i choked up all the dandelion fluff and fell back in love with the sun. the year of the first snowfall. of learning falling doesn’t always leave you bruised. the year i didn’t need wings to make it through. of no broken glass. of only writing about the fire when i could call it what it is: a disaster. the year of wild. of fireflies and sunrises and midnight car rides and blurry photographs of the orange streetlamps. the year of roses. everywhere. of cherry stems. without his name attached. the year of forgiveness. of clean hands. of pardoning myself. the year i learned softness isn’t a weapon. it’s a strength." by

2017, Angelea Lowes

(inspired by Warsan Shire)

No one ever asks a museum
if it’s doing okay.

So when you choose to spill like this,
bleed like this, cry like this,
your pain becomes an exhibit.

You hang your trauma on the wall,
ask patrons not to touch, but only
half of them respect the signs.

When you choose to be a poet,

you become a place that people walk through
and then leave when they are ready.

" by Rudy Francisco, Museum, found in Helium
(via wildfairy)

(Source: buttonpoetry.com, via wildfairy)

The Year is 2018, and You Are Not Afraid Anymore

writingsforwinter:

The year is 2018, and you are not afraid anymore. You have a president that brings you to your knees, but you are no longer on them for as many taxonomies of pain as you used to be. You’ve remembered what a life without begging is like. There are no flying cars or methods of teleportation, still not a way to remove certain mutations from genes, but you drink less than you used to and there are plants in your apartment you can now take care of as well as you take care of yourself.
You still fall asleep remembering the photographer who killed himself after capturing an image of the starving child only inches from a vulture, but you’ve come to learn that there is some innate goodness left in human beings after all. It is not a carcass you see in your dreams now, but rather a womb with a tiny glowing heart. There are more ways for you to kill the pain, although the variety you choose from grows smaller and smaller like a closing circle. None of your friends want to die anymore, or at least they’re better at hiding it.
Neither do you. Or at least, you cross bridges only when the stars are out and the moon no longer reminds you of a noose. There are men in power who should not be, and power in men who should transfer it to someone else, and still manpower in the one man who broke you like a crown. He still reigns over your sleeping thoughts, but the anger makes it bearable, and the land he holds is more barren than it used to be.
The year is 2018, and you are not afraid anymore. Women still die from childbirth in countries you’ve never been to, and you’ve come to realize that a c-section is not the first time in a woman’s life she’s been torn open. However, there are some tools for this now, and more birthdays. You’ve made it to 23, despite thinking you’d never make it past 20. You still hate your body, but now you know why.
What sinks you is no longer the idea of hysterectomies, but the idea that a piece of you could be missing and still the body would go on without it.
The year is 2018, and you finally, at long last, are not afraid anymore.

(via writingsforwinter)

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"I want a tattoo of the first morning we woke up together. I want the memory to hurt." by Clementine von Radics, excerpt from Everything in Portland Is a Postcard Saying “Wish You Were Here!” (via larmoyante)

(via fakinq-glory)

"I love kissing. If I could kiss all day, I would. I can’t stop thinking about kissing. I like kissing more than sex because there’s no end to it. You can kiss forever. You can kiss yourself into oblivion. You can kiss all over the body. You can kiss yourself to sleep. And when you wake up, you can’t stop thinking about kissing. Dammit, I can’t get anything done because I’m so busy thinking about kissing. Kissing is madness! But it’s absolute paradise, if you can find a good kisser." by Sufjan Stevens (via quotemadness)

(Source: quotemadness.com, via leathelion)