Margins & Intersections
Margins & Intersections
be easy.
take your time.
you are coming
to yourself. the becoming | wing, nayyirah waheed
(via afrosandprose)

(Source: nayyirahwaheed, via afrosandprose)

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Maybe poems are made of breath, the way water,
cajoled to boil, says, This is my soul, freed. Dean Young, from “Scarecrow on Fire,” in Bender: New and Selected Poems (Copper Canyon Press, 2012)

(Source: apoetreflects, via afrosandprose)

598 notes
In America, I fit, but I do not belong.
In Lebanon, I belong, but I do not fit. Rabih Alameddine in Koolaids: The Art of War [x] (via thestolencaryatid)

(via thestolencaryatid-deactivated20)

1,583 notes

Daily Poetry #2

Night Madness Poem

There’s a poem in my head
Like too many cups of coffee.
A pea under twenty eiderdowns.
A sadness in my heart like stone.
A telephone. And always my
night madness that outs like bats
across this Texas sky.

I’m the crazy lady they warned you about.
The she of rumor talked about -
and worse, who talks.

It’s no secret.
I’m here. Under a circle of light.
The light always on, resisting a glass,
an easy cigar. The kind

who reels the twilight sky.
Swoop circling.
I’m a witch woman high
on tobacco and holy water.

I’m a woman delighted with her disasters.
They give me something to do.
A profession of sorts.
Keeps me industrious
and of some serviceable use.

In dreams the origami of the brain
opens like a fist, a pomegranate,
an expensive geometry.

Not true.
I haven’t a clue
why I’m rumpled tonight.

Choose your weapon.
Mine - the telephone, my tongue.
Both black as a gun.

I have the magic of words,
the power to charm and kill at will.
To kill myself or to aim haphazardly.
And kill you.

Sandra Cisneros - Loose Woman, 1994
2 notes
Soul Food: Daily Poetry #1

All by Langston Hughes

New Year

The years

Fall like dry leaves

From the top-less tree

Of eternity.

Does it matter

That another leaf has fallen?

Still Here

I’ve been scared and battered.

My hopes the wind done scattered.

Snow has friz me, sun has baked me.

          Looks like between ‘em

          They done tried to make me

Stop laughin’, stop lovin’, stop livin’ - 

          But I don’t care!

          I’m still here!


We have tomorrow

Bright before us

Like a flame.


A night-gone thing,

A sun-down name.

And dawn-today

Broad arch above the road we came.

We march!


Her teeth are as white as the meat of an apple,

Her lips are like dark, ripe plums.

I love her.

Her hair is a midnight mass, a dusky aurora.

I love her.

And because her skin is the brown of an oak leaf in autumn, but a softer color,

I want to kiss her.

1 note
islam is still in my life.
we are old soulmates.
who could not work out the knots against skin.
but we still
sip tea.
share our hands.
touch hearts.
every now and then. tea, nayyirah waheed (via nayyirahwaheed)

(via nayyirahwaheed)

691 notes
You don’t have to swallow your tears. You don’t have to hide how you feel or ignore your pain. You have to give yourself a hug, look yourself in the eyes, and say, “I’m sad and I’m angry and I’m hurting. And you know what? That’s okay. My feelings are valid. I’m not broken or crazy. I’m wounded. But I can heal. And I’m going to be okay. Maybe not today or tomorrow or a week from now, but sometime soon, this is going to pass. And until it does, I’m going to keep taking care of myself. I’m going to talk back to the negative voice making me feel small and speak to myself with kindness. I’m going to let myself feel my feelings and do self-care. And I’m going to treat myself like a friend. Because if there’s anyone who deserves my love and affection, it’s me.” Daniell Koepke (via internal-acceptance-movement)
3,040 notes
I write to record what others erase when I speak. -Gloria Anzaldúa (via angiewrites)

(via fabianromero2013-deactivated201)

255 notes


one of the hardest parts about decolonizing for me has been forgiving myself for ever being ashamed of where i come from, what my parents look like, speak like and have worked in order to raise me. i am still forgiving myself. 

fabian romero- indigenous immigrant queer boi writer

(via fabianromero2013-deactivated201)

404 notes




R.I.P. The 2976 American people that lost their lives on 9/11 and R.I.P. the 48,644 Afghan and 1,690,903 Iraqi and 35000 Pakistani people that paid the ultimate price for a crime they did not commit

this is the only september 11th post I’m reblogging

and let’s not forget all the Muslims/Sikhs/Brown-looking people who have been targeted for hate-crimes/discriminations since

(via angrywocunited)

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