Poems Quotes

You watch her mouth and you may think it's good for nothing but kissing but I will tell you now, so much as touch her and she will cut you to ribbons with the razor-edge of her tongue.
And maybe I should love you more, because you're just as sad as I am but you don't go around crying and cutting yourself in the bathtub. Maybe I should love you more, because you never cry in front of me even when your eyes are so f.ucking sad I want to pull mine out. Maybe I should love you more, because I'm horrible and nasty and the things I say to you would make me want to die but still you're here caring for something as awful as I am. Maybe I should love you more.

Rip out my throat, tear into my chest with savage hands until you grasp my beating heart. Hold and watch as, always, it beats for no one else but you.
Sometimes I wonder if you ever loved me, because I know I never loved you.
But think of all the kindness of others. Your entire existence is based upon the unrelenting kindness of those around you. You were born naked, with nothing to call your own - even your body, your flesh and bones, was the merging of two other bodies kind enough to give you life. You lived, you thrived and grew, in a cramped but comforting space for nine months and still you were selfish enough to steal the food - the nourishment - of someone else. and yet, they were kind enough to let you - to feed and house you and spend months upon months in great discomfort. And then you grew, and still these people are kind enough to care for you. You are no longer cute, nor small, and yet they continue to feed you and clothe you and house you. Take a moment to marvel at the sheer kindness humans are capable of expressing.
You. You are the rain. You are a thunderstorm that destroys houses and homes. You are the downpour that people pray for, and you are the comforting sound of drizzle in the night-time. You are essential to life, and people may complain but you will always be important.
You are a wineglass. She will wrap her mouth around you, stain you with red lips, and make you feel loved. And then, with great force, she will throw you to the ground. You will shatter into thousands of pieces, scattered and divided, and it is not until then that you will realise you are not as important as you think.
i want to travel across oceans and mountains. i want to experience the harshest of climates, from the bite of the himalayas to the humid intensity of the sahara. i want to speak to people in german, portuguese, french, spanish, italian. i want to write in russian and arabic and i want to pass people little notes with things like "vous êtes jolie!" or "sie sind sehr nett" written in my awful, ugly handwriting. i want to drive a car with the top down, or cling onto the back of a motorbike with my arms spread wide. i want to stuff my face with kulfi and vorschmack and baklava until i feel sick enough to puke. i want to stop this sham that i've called living.


 
 
Ten Women I Have Been Warned Against Becoming:

1. The Girl Who Takes Up Too Much Space, always, her shoulders too wide in stairwells, her hips too big in doorways, her voice too loud in classes. This woman does not understand the art of crumbling, of curling herself tight like the spiral of a fern, soft, delicate, unwilling to reach out the ivy of her fingers to grasp onto what should rightfully be hers. This is a beast, an elephant, a moving mountain and she is capable of flattening you, she is capable of ruining you, she is capable of making you feel as small and insignificant in her life as she is supposed to be. You are this woman’s footnote to history, you are her side note in song lyrics, you are constantly interrupted by her with a witty joke you wish you thought of. I asked what the problem was with being a steamroller instead of a sunflower and I was laughed down.

2. The Beautiful One, the long hair or the slim waist or the pretty eyes or the lips like bowstrings. This woman looks good in everything because she’s confident in whatever you put her in. She’ll cut her hair short on you no matter how you like it, she’ll wear high heels and step on your opinions, she’ll look hot as hell no matter what size she is. See, the reason you can’t trust her is because women like this don’t need your permission, they’ll do as they please and get away with it. They’ll say no to you, over and over. Teach your daughters that beautiful means dangerous, teach them to distrust women who love themselves. Equate beautiful with vapid, equate pretty with stupid, take their power from them. Say they’re vain for their makeup, refuse to see them without it. These women are snakes, they are serpents. I said maybe the problem lies with you being unable to control yourself and was told to get off my pedestal.

3. A Bítch. Women are supposed to be ladies in the street but will tear skin under sheets. I’m told: Never raise your voice. Speak gently. Submit. Hold your opinion against your lips and when you admit to it, make sure it comes out as a butterfly wing suggestion. Don’t disagree. Don’t undermine someone else’s authority, regardless of whether or not they deserve your respect. Someone touches you, just move away from them. Don’t hit. Don’t talk back. Be like the ruins of Rome, only beautiful if you can’t hear your quiet death.

4. The Needy One. I have heard how others spit when they talk about how she gave you everything and you shoved it back down her throat until she choked on it, until she came back crawling and asked you what she did, until her palms and knees were scraped for want of just a little affection - never be this woman, I’m told, because she’s a joke and the joke is that she dared to have more emotion than you did. The truth is, I’m told, the one who cares less in a partnership is the one who wins. I didn’t know this was a competition.

5. The Cóck Tease, certified str
ípper, how dare that girl look like that and not want me to sleep with her. Lúst is always personified as a lady in red with a dress slit up her thigh. Lúst is sinful because it’s power, it’s not asking for attention - it’s demanding it. I’m told she is the worst kind of woman, that looking good is supposed to be some kind of shame on her kin. I’m told not to leave the house in such a short skirt, not with a shirt so low, not with a lace back, not with high heels, not dressed like that. My lipstick can’t be too red, my hair can’t be too mussed, I can’t just “turn someone on like that and then leave them wanting.” I mentioned that instant gratification actually ruins our psyche and was told that being led on was “exhausting.” I said that there was a difference between purposefully tricking someone into liking you and just being attractive or friendly. I was told there’s also a difference between coffee and tea but both result in caffeine. I said, “I’ve been turned on in class by the girls I talk to but I didn’t expect anything from them,” and they said, “It’s different, you’re not a man,” but couldn’t explain where that difference was.

6. A Slút, obviously ruined by another person’s touch. It doesn’t matter how many people she’s actually been with, it’s all about the rumors she carries with her. Easy. H
árlot. You’ll still try to get with her, you’ll still take her into your bed and kiss her and say things you don’t mean - but you’ll defame her name when you talk to your buddies. My father used to say “A slút is fine for the night, but the vírgin is who you take home and marry.” Maybe he didn’t know he was teaching his daughter to hate her séxuality. Maybe he didn’t know that every time she’d be kissed, her whole system would shake until she felt ready to combust, shame and self-hatred shivering against her spine. Maybe he didn’t know she’d disconnect emotions and séx because he always told her, “Boys are different, they won’t care about you.” Nobody said to her that it was okay to experiment. See, the funny thing is, I’m a dancer so I know exactly where my center of gravity is. I know how hard I’ll fall in each direction. Yet out of fear of getting hurt, I won’t let a single person inside of my bed.

7. The Soulmate. Never love romance more than you love being cynical. Never show weakness, never like pink, never think maybe you might find someone nice and settle down with them. Someone will find you, I was told, And if you’re lucky, he’ll put up with you when you start getting old. Never be the woman who believes in happily ever after, never be dumb enough to think maybe someone could love you after all of your mistakes. It has nothing to do with whether or not a family is important to you and you’re in a good place where a relationship would make your life better - you’re not a princess. You don’t get married, you settle.

8. The Girl With Strength, who can outrun everyone and who is stronger than her boyfriend. “See the thing about boys,” says my daddy, “Is that you have to let them win.” I sat at home and read stories about Artemis and wanted to become the huntress, too. I wanted to howl at the moon, I wanted to slay the beasts that bested me, I wanted to rule my kingdom with bloody fists. But girls are never athletes, never supposed to be “built,” regardless of the fact civilizations were constructed on our spines and we made homes in war by the steel of our ribs. Never be strong. We are supposed to wilt.

9. The Lady CEO: because if you choose work over family, are you really a girl? How dare you fight your way to the top through every pair of eyes that bore through your blouse, through every meeting where you were hushed by the sound of someone else talking, through every time someone called you “sweetie,” how dare you yearn for something. Is your husband the stay-at-home one? I can’t imagine how that is going. He’s not a real man, after all. I don’t give it long before the divorce. How dare you decide you’re happy being single. Don’t you know you’re supposed to bear children. Where is your honor? Where is your wisdom? Who cares if you are the leader, the best suited for your position, the quickest-thinking, the one who makes the hardest clients come back again. Don’t you see? Across history, women have been terrible at success. They always lose their man in the end. (When I said, “I would rather be a famous author than a mediocre mother,” I was told, “No, don’t worry, you’ll be a fine mommy.”)

10. THE GIRL I AM: FIRECRACKER AND DON’T YOU F
ÚCKING FORGET IT I’LL RIP YOU TO SHREDS AND I WON’T FÚCKING REGRET IT I’M NOT YOUR PRETTY GIRL I’M NOT YOUR ANYTHING I’M PERFECT, MOTHERFÚCKER, AND I’M NOT GOING TO GIVE UP WHAT I’M DOING. I DON’T WANT TO BE “LADYLIKE” THAT LITERALLY MEANS NOTHING I’M NOT GOING TO STOP STANDING UP AND DEMANDING WHAT’S COMING TO ME. I’M GONNA BE SOMEBODY. I’M GONNA MAKE THEM REMEMBER ME. I REFUSE TO BE OVERSHADOWED IN HISTORY. I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU WERE TRYING TO CREATE BUT YOU MADE ME A DRAGON YOU PUT ME IN THE FIRE AND WHEN I STOPPED BURNING I LEARNED HOW TO GLOW DON’T THINK YOU CAN STOP ME YOU CAN’T TAME A TORNADO.
 
r.i.d
And I see Sophia standing there, looking the prettiest that I have ever seen. Her hair is dark and her eyes are too, standing out against the paper of her skin. She is short of perfection, and I can list each and every flaw after hours of complaints. But I can see the veins beneath her eyes, that paint the darkness with violet-blue and hues of grey, and that is fine with me. I can count the marks that stretch across her thighs, and the faded yellow white of a scar or two that sits above the blue rivers beneath her wrist. And that is fine with me. I can count the moles that span her body, which is devoid of freckles, and I can talk to her at night, with harsh light illuminating her furrowed brow. I cannot see her often, but when I do I will happily spend hours listening to her complain about this grey hair and that open pore, because I can then spend hours correcting her, creating a red flame that is known to devour her entire face. And I am fine with that.

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