Poetry exists in me in a large part because she existed in this world. Her book of poems was one if the first and best books I have ever owned. #ripmaya #mayaangelou

Poetry exists in me in a large part because she existed in this world. Her book of poems was one if the first and best books I have ever owned. #ripmaya #mayaangelou

🙌 #regram from @kassidyleigh1

🙌 #regram from @kassidyleigh1

…When you die, the energy that kept you alive filters into the people you loved. Did you know that? It’s like a fire you’ve tended all your life, and the sparks are all scattered into the wind…. That’s why we survive as long as we do, because the people who loved us keep us going.

Kevin Brockmeier, The View from the Seventh Layer (via observando)

People leave imprints on our lives, shaping who we become in much the same way that a symbol is pressed into the page of a book to tell you who it comes from. Dogs, however, leave paw prints on our lives and our souls, which are as unique as fingerprints in every way.

Ashly Lorenzana (via observando)


Men who can’t cook, clean, or even do their own laundry are not “cute” and “in need of a woman to care for them”. They are spoiled brats so dependent on gender roles that they never bothered to learn the minimal skills to take care of themselves.

(via seulray)

Last night a man asked me for a dollar as I left the subway on my way home. I gave him one.

He then proceeded to start talking to me and followed me for ten minutes as I tried to walk home. He ignored my repeated attempts to part ways and made comments about my body, his body and allude to us having sex. He asked personal questions about my life. He asked if I was married. I told him that I had a boyfriend, not because I owed him any answer, but my past experience has shown that these type of men, when hearing you are ‘taken’ often will leave you alone out of respect, not for you of course, but for the man who already ‘has’ you.

He walked all the way to the block I lived, talking away, moving closer to my side while I clutched my keys, splayed out between my fingers in one pocket and my cell phone in the other, mind frantically going over my options to get out of this situation. How to get away from this man without angering him. How to get into my apartment without him seeing where I lived.

When I turned the corner of my block I saw that the bodega was open. I told him I had to go to the store and said, again, good night. He followed me into the store, where with witnesses and the store owner who knows my face I had to courage to tell him to stop following me. That I didn’t want him to know where I lived. To go away.

He called me a bitch.

The store owner made him stay in the store long enough for me to dart across the street, duck into my apartment, and lock the door behind me.

I’ve spent most of today going over in my head what I did wrong to get into this situation.

I was stupid to give him a dollar. To speak to him after. To let him walk with me so far. To be so concerned with being polite.

But what that really boils down to is that I, my entire life, have been told that being a woman in public is asking for attention, and once received it is my fault in some way.

I don’t owe anybody conversation, my number, my time. It’s not a complement.

The truly insidious thing about harassment is that in the moment, the potential violence, quiet, persistent and vague threat combine with a world of people telling you that if something bad happens to you it’s YOUR fault. The conditioning women receive to be ‘nice’, be polite, smile for goodness sake (lest, horrors of all horrors we become that horrendous monster, a bitch). All this is why we accept being uncomfortable, being afraid, why we consider how our keys could be used as a weapon.

The man called me a bitch, and my biggest regret today is that I wasn’t a bigger one.

A friend posted this on Facebook yesterday. Personally, I am so sick of rape culture and what it’s doing to us. (via thearetical)

(via naturallydope)

Chicken Alfredo and Spinach Lasagna…  #yummyinmytummy #chicken #alfredo #spinach #lasagna #icook #sundaydinner meandmylove

Chicken Alfredo and Spinach Lasagna… #yummyinmytummy #chicken #alfredo #spinach #lasagna #icook #sundaydinner meandmylove

Happy Mother’s Day to the superwomen who do it so we’ll. @maymayspears @kassidyleigh1 @mssteph0120




"Little Black Book" iPhone Case

Designed as a little rugged journal that slips comfortably into your purse, messenger bag or backpack, this Little Black Book also cradles your iPhone 4/4S in a protective, hand-crafted finished wood frame. Sold on Etsy.

(via yearsofmagicalthinking)

Girls suck in their abdomens
And stick out their chests
As if trying to make space
To cradle something in between
When they lie on their backs
And stare into the ceiling.

Boys say they love curves;
The curves of each dip in the ribs
Or the curves of a nourished, full stomach?

Girls want to take up less space
They want their old dresses to slide right off them.
They want to feel light and weightless
But what use is that
When the weight of the elephant
In the room crushes everything?

Girls want body contours and crevices and curves
And gaps and holes
And cracks and splinters
And bruises and chest pains
And blood and tears
But do they?
Do they?

'He prefers skinnier girls,'
Or does he just prefer someone
Light enough to make him feel masculine
Someone petite enough to make him feel big?

Girls hang their skeletons in the closet
But the bones still begin to show
Under their skin.

Contours, W.J (via cascadingletters)

(via seulray)

What kind of man can ascend to the throne next to a woman who owns her own crown?

Children are not children. They are just younger people. If anything, children are wiser. They know more than we do, and have at least as much to teach us as we have to teach them. How dare we try to fit them into our boxes and make them play by our rules, which are so very, very stupid? How dare we tell them anything when we live in a world so obviously backward? And how ungrateful we are to listen so little and watch so casually when angels themselves have moved into our house.

The hottest place in hell is reserved for those who, in times of crisis, preferred to remain neutral.