phee
Status:
musicure's identical twin
Joined: December 14, 2012
Last Seen: 1 year
user id: 342021
Location: reading my old quotes and wondering if i should laugh or cringe
Gender: F
Joined: December 14, 2012
Last Seen: 1 year
user id: 342021
Location: reading my old quotes and wondering if i should laugh or cringe
Gender: F
60
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403 Favorites
81 Following
101 Followers
2 Comment Points
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Flair
403 Favorites
81 Following
101 Followers
2 Comment Points
Comments
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Flair
currently reading: we are all completely beside ourselves
favourite new song: nf- let you down
phee's Favorite Quotes
congratulations, it’s a
girl, says the doctor. congratulations, it’s a girl, and
we have rose-tinted bubblegum-scented ultrasound gel for an
extra 3 dollars. and the baby shower will have
frosted balloons, and pink ribbons, and red cake for the blood that has not left the womb for nine months,
red for life and for pain and for lipstick,
and when the blood and the life leaves the womb it will be swaddled in soft femininity and it will feed on the teat of patriarchy. they will say you’re a sinner for letting her touch that toy truck, you’re a sinner for teaching her to defend herself, you’re a sinner for
letting her leave the house like that, but all she knows now is how to
gnaw on barbie’s head until it’s chewed and slimy with saliva. you don’t claim to be god but
you won’t bind her hands with pages from the bible.
and today it’s the second day of kindergarten. when a boy steals her unmellow yellow crayon it’s because he likes her,
and tomorrow she passes through the freudian phallic stage without losing her sense of identity, and when she’s thirteen her dad’s friend slides his hand onto her thigh under the table
keeps it there the entire dinner because he likes her, and she still
can’t smell lasagna without gagging. when she’s sixteen she lets her friend’s brother kiss her
because the boys at school call her pancake chest
his tongue tastes like an ashtray limp and slimy in her mouth, and after she brushes her teeth three times she lies in her bed and cries. God, she says,
God why am i here? and he says one day you will make a pen.is erect and you will know.
the next day a suit on the subway undresses her with his empty eyes,
so when the barista asks for 3.99, her number, and half of her soul she complies. splits it down the middle where the bone is and hands it over in exchange for
a soy milk latte.
by seventeen she is tired of lugging god’s most precious gift to
school and work and back so she gives it to a boy in a walmart parking lot, cuts off her hair for good measure and
now she knows. men keep her hair long for easy grip. so she goes home:
how was your day/itwasfine i’m going out/not in that you’re not/whynot (she knows whynot) puts on a potato sack, packs a suitcase full of underwires and razor blades and tweezers
throws it in the pond for when the fishes say mommy will i be pretty one day?
but when the time comes for her to jump she changes her mind and gets on a greyhound bus
to new york city, it is dark when she arrives but the streetlights
float above her head like small suns and keep her warm. she walks past painted ladies with civilized but asymmetrical briefcases, walks past people eating each other’s faces in the shadows, walks until she arrives at the last flat building plugging the holes in the sky she enters the elevator and presses the top floor.
by the time she gets to the 35th floor she has swallowed 35 advils, and when she reaches
Not Heaven she has swallowed her tongue. it smells like old spice and clementines. the angels say don’t worry, we eat out of our collarbones here; try the clouds, they’re made out of windex and taste just like tacos; love is when you shoot smoke into your brain and it cooks your heart.
she hates steak so she lets her nails grow to the floor and sacrifices herself to the newtonian universe
lets gravity lower her back down to earth, to the middle of eighth avenue where suits walk around her until someone calls 911.
the next thing she remembers is white ceiling tiles. the hush hush of voices next to her.
doctors (nearly all her bones were shattered upon impact only god knows how she survived) mom (unintelligible)
she learns to walk again, to talk again, to live again
paints her eyelids with kohl to be beautiful for herself, to be strong for herself. uses judo on anyone who dares lay a hand on her. eats lasagna every wednesday night and loves it.
congratulations, it’s a girl, they say, and she will have to heal.
frosted balloons, and pink ribbons, and red cake for the blood that has not left the womb for nine months,
red for life and for pain and for lipstick,
and when the blood and the life leaves the womb it will be swaddled in soft femininity and it will feed on the teat of patriarchy. they will say you’re a sinner for letting her touch that toy truck, you’re a sinner for teaching her to defend herself, you’re a sinner for
letting her leave the house like that, but all she knows now is how to
gnaw on barbie’s head until it’s chewed and slimy with saliva. you don’t claim to be god but
you won’t bind her hands with pages from the bible.
and today it’s the second day of kindergarten. when a boy steals her unmellow yellow crayon it’s because he likes her,
and tomorrow she passes through the freudian phallic stage without losing her sense of identity, and when she’s thirteen her dad’s friend slides his hand onto her thigh under the table
keeps it there the entire dinner because he likes her, and she still
can’t smell lasagna without gagging. when she’s sixteen she lets her friend’s brother kiss her
because the boys at school call her pancake chest
his tongue tastes like an ashtray limp and slimy in her mouth, and after she brushes her teeth three times she lies in her bed and cries. God, she says,
God why am i here? and he says one day you will make a pen.is erect and you will know.
the next day a suit on the subway undresses her with his empty eyes,
so when the barista asks for 3.99, her number, and half of her soul she complies. splits it down the middle where the bone is and hands it over in exchange for
a soy milk latte.
by seventeen she is tired of lugging god’s most precious gift to
school and work and back so she gives it to a boy in a walmart parking lot, cuts off her hair for good measure and
now she knows. men keep her hair long for easy grip. so she goes home:
how was your day/itwasfine i’m going out/not in that you’re not/whynot (she knows whynot) puts on a potato sack, packs a suitcase full of underwires and razor blades and tweezers
throws it in the pond for when the fishes say mommy will i be pretty one day?
but when the time comes for her to jump she changes her mind and gets on a greyhound bus
to new york city, it is dark when she arrives but the streetlights
float above her head like small suns and keep her warm. she walks past painted ladies with civilized but asymmetrical briefcases, walks past people eating each other’s faces in the shadows, walks until she arrives at the last flat building plugging the holes in the sky she enters the elevator and presses the top floor.
by the time she gets to the 35th floor she has swallowed 35 advils, and when she reaches
Not Heaven she has swallowed her tongue. it smells like old spice and clementines. the angels say don’t worry, we eat out of our collarbones here; try the clouds, they’re made out of windex and taste just like tacos; love is when you shoot smoke into your brain and it cooks your heart.
she hates steak so she lets her nails grow to the floor and sacrifices herself to the newtonian universe
lets gravity lower her back down to earth, to the middle of eighth avenue where suits walk around her until someone calls 911.
the next thing she remembers is white ceiling tiles. the hush hush of voices next to her.
doctors (nearly all her bones were shattered upon impact only god knows how she survived) mom (unintelligible)
she learns to walk again, to talk again, to live again
paints her eyelids with kohl to be beautiful for herself, to be strong for herself. uses judo on anyone who dares lay a hand on her. eats lasagna every wednesday night and loves it.
congratulations, it’s a girl, they say, and she will have to heal.
be walking trees. be
talking beasts. be divine
waters.
“
Do not love half lovers
Do not entertain half friends
Do not indulge in works of the half talented
Do not live half a life and do not die a half death
If you choose silence, then be silent
When you speak, do so until you are finished
Do not silence yourself to say something
And do not speak to be silent
If you accept, then express it bluntly
Do not mask it
If you refuse then be clear about it
for an ambiguous refusal
is but a weak acceptance
Do not accept half a solution
Do not believe half truths
Do not dream half a dream
Do not fantasize about half hopes
Half a drink will not quench your thirst
Half a meal will not satiate your hunger
Half the way will get you no where
Half an idea will bear you no results
Your other half is not the one you love
It is you in another time yet in the same space
It is you when you are not
Half a life is a life you didn’t live,
A word you have not said
A smile you postponed
A love you have not had
A friendship you did not know
To reach and not arrive
Work and not work
Attend only to be absent
What makes you a stranger to them closest to you
and they strangers to you
The half is a mere moment of inability
but you are able for you are not half a being
You are a whole that exists
to live a life not half a life.
Do not entertain half friends
Do not indulge in works of the half talented
Do not live half a life and do not die a half death
If you choose silence, then be silent
When you speak, do so until you are finished
Do not silence yourself to say something
And do not speak to be silent
If you accept, then express it bluntly
Do not mask it
If you refuse then be clear about it
for an ambiguous refusal
is but a weak acceptance
Do not accept half a solution
Do not believe half truths
Do not dream half a dream
Do not fantasize about half hopes
Half a drink will not quench your thirst
Half a meal will not satiate your hunger
Half the way will get you no where
Half an idea will bear you no results
Your other half is not the one you love
It is you in another time yet in the same space
It is you when you are not
Half a life is a life you didn’t live,
A word you have not said
A smile you postponed
A love you have not had
A friendship you did not know
To reach and not arrive
Work and not work
Attend only to be absent
What makes you a stranger to them closest to you
and they strangers to you
The half is a mere moment of inability
but you are able for you are not half a being
You are a whole that exists
to live a life not half a life.
—KHALIL GIBRAN
They focus on religion, but forget about God,
