they say take drugs and see God, but
my teeth are already stained silver, and the
juice is leaking from the electric wires of
my soul, i tell my therapist that my chest is
a cage filled with red confetti, he asks me
if i want to switch pills again, says that it’s
not healthy if i think my bones are boiling,
i tell my thirty-something boyfriend that i
imagine his eyes around my neck like pearls
a French Queen would have once worn, he
asks me why i don’t want to close the
curtains when we make love for the third
time that day, i read him poetry about girls
spilling gasoline inside their mouths and
setting their tongues on fire when boys
with dead eyes kiss them, i am trying to
explain to him that it makes me nervous
when i can’t see the moon hanging by a
thread in the orange night, he smokes
cigarettes and tells me he understands me,
but i know that when we look up at the stars
we see two different galaxies, i tell him i love
him but his words will never ignite my skin,
and when he touches me, i always turn to ash
i know you think of me on nights like this (via irynka)
last night I dreamt
they cut off your hands and feet.
you whispered to me,
Now we are both incomplete.
I held all four
in my arms like sons and daughters.
I bent slowly down
and washed them in magical waters.
I placed each one
where it belonged on you.
you said and we laughed
the laugh of the well-to-do.
In this funny, poignant talk, Brené Brown explains what makes us feel a sense of love and belonging. It’s a powerful reminder (especially for all you Type A’s out there) to embrace the messy and unknown, even when that leap of faith seems scary or uncertain.
Watch the full talk here »
Beautiful words from Brené Brown’s TEDxHouston talk to inspire you this week.
Perhaps the fact
that I chased a boy
who ripped me to shreds
says a lot more
than it did about him.
And kid, you’ve got to love yourself. You’ve got wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee, and stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn. You’ve got to sit next to the man at the train station who’s reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You’ve got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you’ve got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You’ve got to stop taking everything so goddam personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You’ve got to compliment someones crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You’ve got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that won’t matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You’ve got to stop worrying about what you’re going to tell her when she finds out. You’ve got to stop over thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You’ve got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You’ve got to love yourself.
There is a fundamental reason why we look at the sky with wonder and longing—for the same reason that we stand, hour after hour, gazing at the distant swell of the open ocean. There is something like an ancient wisdom, encoded and tucked away in our DNA, that knows its point of origin as surely as a salmon knows its creek. Intellectually, we may not want to return there, but the genes know, and long for their origins—their home in the salty depths. But if the seas are our immediate source, the penultimate source is certainly the heavens… The spectacular truth is—and this is something that your DNA has known all along—the very atoms of your body—the iron, calcium, phosphorus, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and on and on—were initially forged in long-dead stars. This is why, when you stand outside under a moonless, country sky, you feel some ineffable tugging at your innards. We are star stuff. Keep looking up.
i am taught to scream “fire” when
a man grabs my wrists because i
have a bigger chance of getting
help than if i were to yell “rape”,
i am taught to keep my mouth shut
when a boy with bruised knuckles
whistles at me, i am taught long
sleeves in school, to hide my knee’s:
the threshold of my thighs, i am taught
short skirts and to wear cigarette burns
as punishments, i am taught to hold my
tongue in the palms of my brain, i am
taught to shut up, swallow my words,
chew my lipstick, speak when i am told,
i am taught to scream “fire” when a man
grabs my wrists, but he is never taught
my sister eats acid (via irynka)
“There were always in me, two women at least, one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning and another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.”
― Anaïs Nin