I had to choose
Between being a poet
And keeping myself sane

I, as a poet
Would gaze into your iris
As you slept so peacefully in my bed
In spite of your absence

I, as a poet
Would relish as your fingers grazed over my body
As your breath sounded rough in my ear
Even when you're nowhere to be found
Or especially then

I, as a poet
Would write long exhausting words
Describing each aspect of being in love with you
Ignoring the dull ache in my hollowed out chest
Refusing to acknowledge my scars

I, as a poet
Would watch the glory of my stomach curving in
Saying no yet to another meal
I would feed lies to any pair of ears
That'd still to bear to hear them

The poet living inside my walls
Her love is an existential eternity
Her love is pretentious
But her love is her

I had to choose
Between being a poet
And keeping myself sane
To stop the voices in my head
Although I'm still not sure what I chose
For now
My voices agree with me

Take my hand
    Lead me to the black inferno in my heart
       Leave me there
         Don't come back
           Let me burn in your wrath
                         and
                       Lick the flames

Take me to a fresh Evergreen
        Kiss my breath
           Make sure you never kiss me again
              Let me revisit the dying leaves all alone
                           and
               Let me gnaw my lips to ******* blood
              But never let me taste you again

Swim with me in waters of plenty
         Just as our feet feel nothing
           Cup my face in your hands
             Tickle my cheek for one last time
                Break me with your gaze
                        Then swim away
                Let me try and recall the depths of your eyes
                    But never let me look into them again

Love me for a single moment
       Let me inhale your memory
                     and
                     Breathe in my masochism
       Let me gently fade away
                   and
                   Be shattered in the blowing wind
       Don't try and find me
            I will be far beyond your reach

Don't you dare look back
Just be my memory

It would be much too dangerous to talk about
Or remember at all
That night

A piercing scream from behind
A clatter of fallen crockery on the floor
Crimson fills the apron she wore
I do not yet think to ask how or why
My heart beats a silent cry
I kneel beside to feel her warmth
All I feel are empty eyes slice into my soul

My eyes look over the pool of red
Gathered by the drops her body shed
But for the blood, she can be lost in dreams
I think, as I imagine her pale in peace
Grabbing a mop
I cleanse her of the damaging dye
Her body now remains uncoloured, untainted
Of that which still inflames her quintessence
She's been marked, I realise
In an irreparable scarlet
All action, all words- scattered on the tiles
Lying broken and futile

I.
If a boy teases you,
he is a ****.
Stand up for yourself.

II.
It is entirely acceptable
to wear brown with black
and silver with gold.

III.**
If it is three a.m.
and you still don't understand the quadratic formula,
go to bed.

IV.
When you get your heart broken
(and you definitely will),
ask yourself if they are worth crying over.

V.
By all means,
whenever there is rain,
go outside.

VI.
You are not a girl,
you are a person.
Behave as such.

VII.
Dress however you want.
Dye your hair unnatural colors.
Wear men's clothing.

VIII.
Have seconds.
Eat dessert.
Eat second dessert.

IX.
Love until it hurts,
and then ask yourself
if it is still worth it.

X.
Always be truthful,
gentle,
and fearless.

"THIS PICTURE WILL NOT CHANGE THE WORLD, BUT I STILL NEED FEMINISM AND I’M GOING TO REALLY, REALLY TELL YOU WHY":

-Because I got called a ***** for wearing a short plaid skirt when I was 10

-and because when Nujood Ali from Yemen was 10 she got divorced

-Because black girls’ names became my classmates’ favorite “joke” when I was 11

-and because when an 11-year-old girl in Texas was ***** by 18 men the New York Times wrote of how the girl “dressed older than her age”

-Because I started counting calories when I was 14

-and because when Malala Yousafzai was 14 she was shot in the head for trying to go to school

-Because I heard a boy greet a girl with “hey ****” today at age 16
-and because when a 16-year-old girl in Steubenville, Ohio was filmed being ***** by two boys at a party while unconscious the CNN reporters talked about how tragic it was because the rapists had such bright futures as athletes

-Because I will have to watch my drink at all bars and parties when I am 22

-and because when CeCe McDonald was 22 she was sentenced to 41 months in prison for defending herself against a man who screamed transphobic, racist insults at her and then slashed her face with a bottle

-Because no matter what age I am the biggest threat to men will still be heart disease, and the biggest threat to women will still be men.

-Because it is not just about me, because it is not just about anger, because it is not just a JOKE, because it is not just about “hating men,” because it is not just about girls with vaginas, because it is not just about ending “****”, because it is not just about white straight girls in Rookie magazine, because it is not just about writing on backs, because it is not just about the fact that gay men are “****” but lesbians are “hot,” because it is not just about pictures of thin white girls being the only google image results for the search phrase “beautiful women”, because it is not just about writing signs, because it is not just about what she was wearing or how many times she said yes before she changed her answer to no, because misogyny is not just about one thing and feminism is not just about one thing and it is not just “a trend” and it will not “happen” in just one way.

-And because yes. It is about equality for EVERYONE, but first and foremost it needs to be about equality for girls, because they are not treated equally to men, in every single sense, and you are not going to take feminism away from me and call me bossy/hostile/aggressive and make this about yourself or make it into a joke, because truth be told, I’m not joking and I’m tired of explaining. If you want to call yourself a feminist, you work hard to spread feminism, you do not turn this into a contest of whose struggle is greater and constantly demand to know what you can get out of feminism personally. Feminism is not just about you, or me, it is about everyone. If you’re male and you’re tired of men being stereotyped as hyper-masculine, soulless, sexist, inherent leader-tyrant creatures, then go out and prove the patriarchy wrong and fight for girls, like someone with a soul who believes in equality would. Then, yes, feminism will be about everyone.


- http://crystallized-teardrops.tumblr.com/post/81364478634/wearethefourthwave-this-picture-will-not -

Sometimes I dream
Of our breath
As one
And as I moan
We burn
Together
Your lips
Tracing a scar
On my thighs

Sometimes I dream
Of our blood
As one
And as we bleed
The crimson drops flow away
Together
Taking with it who we were
Mingling
Into a sick river
I can't help but smile
Even death cannot do us apart

Sometimes I dream
Of a knife
Against my throat
Your fingers clasped around it
You pull my hair
You clench your teeth
You are the cause
Of my misery
The love I feel for you
Does not fade
Though you slowly **** me
Or especially because
Of that

But
You are away
Far away
While I am here
The haunt I feel inside
I soothe it with sleepless nights
With men I don't love
Because
You are with her

My breath
  Must be
    At the price of
      A cut
          A scar

The scarlet beads
  Will slowly seep away
     And drain my veins
               But
    They will fill my lungs
       With the air I need
          And eventually
             I shall fall into a
                Dreamless sleep
I was never meant to breathe
                                
                                          ~r.w.