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Who shall I curse that I grew up / believing in my mother’s face / or that I lived in fear of potent darkness / wearing my father’s shape / they have both marked me / with their blind and terrible love / and I am lustful now for my own name.
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audre lorde
Every daughter / has a cage around her head / and a mother on the cross. / I always hope to take it off, and rarely do. / Instead, I climb up, like a child into the bed. / I nail myself beside you.
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pretty shitty how baseline human activities like singing, dancing and making art got turned into skills instead of being seen as behaviors
so now it’s like ‘the point of doing them is to get good at them’ and not ‘this is a thing humans do, the way birds sing and bees make hives’.
so now it’s like ‘the point of doing them is to get good at them’ and not ‘this is a thing humans do, the way birds sing and bees make hives’.
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blackwoolncrown on tumblr
“The number of hours we have together is actually not so large. Please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.” (mikko harvey, from “for m,”)
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“The goal is to never stay the same. I always want to be changing and evolving. That’s the whole point of life and the whole point of making art is to be constantly moving.”
— Sufjan Stevens
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what is a monster? whoever the storyteller fears.
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sometimes it’s better refrain from deep introspection and allow yourself to just be.
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my mother and I becoming each other, / her bruises and scars passed down, / family heirlooms that will take / me decades to stop wearing,
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taylor byas
For years I craved the red / shock of her anger. / What do you do with tenderness / when all you expect is fury?