"A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman."
Wallace Stevens (via idontpickflowers)
(Source: cactusdandy, via nextstoprequested)
Thoughts Filtered Through My Fingertips
This is a public exploration of some of my inner most thoughts and inspirations. As I connect to the world around me, feel free to assist me in building a bridge leading to a more intimate knowledge of my identity. I am a 21 year old West Indian daughter/sister/friend/student and aspiring poet hailing from the island of ST. Thomas. Currently I am becoming better acquainted with English Literature at Seton Hill University. With no aim to judge or be judged, I am working my way into this world. Whether a mark will be left after I am long gone is yet to decided.
"Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply."
Stephen R. Covey (via ohmoomers)
Yeahhh note to self: work on this.
(via nappysol)
(via nextstoprequested)
I hate earthquakes.
Wanted
-
I don’t know how you did it
maybe you paid off my heart
so you could take up residence in my blood stream.
I just know with every circulation
I find my mind massively distributing your image
until everything I want looks like you.
-
You mean the world to me. All of my shit talking, the cold shoulders and your reluctance to shiver. The way I shiver instead. They’re all smoke screens, you’re the clearest thing I’ve ever seen, clean like the good silverware. You’re my good silverware. My good heart.
(via nextstoprequested)
A Woman's Place is in the Struggle: Aftermath
She told me that
There is no love
Just packed suitcases
And broken promises
And a man swinging
A four letter word
Around like a
Meat cleaver
And a man holding
A four letter word
To her temple
Like a loaded pistol
There is no love
Just bottles of tablets
To swallow and
The time it will take
To…
A Woman's Place is in the Struggle: Guerrilla Lovefare (for Tania the Guerrilla)
If he loved you
Was it hard enough?
Were your serenades
The rattle of gunfire?
Did he leave
His Bolivian Diary
Imprinted on your thighs?
Were your eyelashes
A dove’s wings
Kissing the wilderness,
Sweeping across
The torso of
A man that carried
The Sierra Maestra
On his shoulder blades?
On those…
A Woman's Place is in the Struggle: Revolutionary Love
There are women
Steady aimed and sugar tongued
That revolutions find homes in
They sit on their shoulders
They drape themselves
Across their bodies
Like rounds of ammunition
Ravel themselves around their ankles
Wrapping wars up their calves
Like lover’s limbs entangling
In guerrilla camps
When…
It’s beautiful when you find someone that is in love with your mind. Someone that wants to undress your conscience and make love to your thoughts. Someone that wants to watch you slowly take down all the walls you’ve built up around your mind and let them inside.
(Source: samirathejerk, via nextstoprequested)
Quiet Storms
Tonight I realized I cry like my mother, all rain no thunder.
-
Without fair warning
my eye lashes become broken levies
my body a tiny earthquake
no one can find the epicenter
it moves.
My tears frighten men
they feel defense-less.
How can they fight
when they see no enemies?
So I cry when no one is watching
when I am not within holding distance.
Soft voices only increase the currents.
My father says,
“A few brave men will risk drowning
in their attempts to save you.”
-
Day 26/30
