holy shit, I thought I was logged out of this thing forever.
inchesgiven reblogged
If I come I come to raise the dead
Even with all these demons in my head
And if you’ve come to raise them too
If you wait for me, I’ll wait for you
I know I'm basically dead on this website by now, but I have to take a moment to appreciate @tylerlyle some more.
Source: tylerlyle.bandcamp.com
inchesgiven reblogged
Don’t look strange men in the face
unless you want them to look back.
You can’t carry your body around like
it’s covered in sequins, or worth shit
without making everyone uncomfortable, Sam.
Don’t blame the world for how it wants to
get its hands around your throat –
you’re the one who showed up
with a throat to begin with.
Sam Sax, from Learning to Breathe Water (via deeplystained)
inchesgiven reblogged
cole mohr.
Source: mmmaygen
inchesgiven reblogged
teethvsteeth-deactivated2018061
I’ll write you letters and I’ll write you songs and you will be endlessly distracting
inchesgiven reblogged
darksilenceinsuburbia
Doctrine of Signatures
inchesgiven reblogged
dankmemesforsadteens
inchesgiven reblogged
Collette, In Memory of Ophelia and All Those Who Died of Love and Madness, 1976
inchesgiven reblogged
darksilenceinsuburbia
inchesgiven reblogged
darksilenceinsuburbia
these photos of casa susanna were the first pictures i ever saw of trans women in the past and theyve been important to me since coming out
bxxddxl
I love this and it’s so important
inchesgiven reblogged
i love everything about this.
Me too! I love doing this.
I miss everyone in this picture more than I can possibly articulate. I miss my Atlanta babies. I miss it all.
inchesgiven reblogged
Crystal Valentine - “And the News Reporter Says Jesus Is White”. Support the artist, check out the full poem here.
inchesgiven reblogged
I don’t write poetry anymore and nothing can hurt me. I don’t write poetry anymore and every river is bleeding towards a home. All I really want is a man to put his hands in my mouth. All I really want is two stones or a sleeping dog or a dead horse. I take long walks from one street corner to another. There are so many little things that make up a life. I look my strangers in the eyes. I am almost always imagining some kind of violence. I cheated this Ramadan. I’ve cheated every Ramadan. I don’t write poetry anymore so I don’t have to think about my mother. I haven’t kissed anyone in months. I’m not as good as I hoped I’d be. Yesterday I noticed my front tooth is rotting.
inchesgiven reblogged
Everything I write lately is bloated with sadness.
When you try to love the world but she’s all fists,
all gut, all blood. I don't know what to do
with all of my black girl grief–
maybe auction it off, maybe bottle it, maybe just
let it sit in the sun and heat up and cool down again.
Let it congeal against the sides of the bowl
and scrape it off to start over again the next day.
I get off the bus ten stops early so that I can make
the long walk home, feel the ground hard and sure
beneath my aching feet. I smell like flour,
dough, rosemary, the oven that cooks the pizzas.
I like how everyone looks at night: warm and drunk
and happy, even the trees. I take off my lonely
like a bodysuit and put it where I keep my sweaters.
I gargle with salt. I moisturize with honey.
I remember the bodies that came before mine,
the bodies that made it possible for my body
to be here now. My friends and I are so pleased
with these parties we throw for ourselves.
We toast to them at our next awful brunch.
Kristina Haynes, “My Grief is Available For Pre-Order” (via fleurishes)
inchesgiven reblogged
abduction
inchesgiven reblogged
