(arctic monkeys lyrics)

(Source: nya-kin, via blackistheonlycolor)


Diego Barruenco and Thomas Davenport - jhendi's boys. 

"I want to taste you again,
like a secret or a sin."

- Only You, Matthew Perryman Jones  (via violentwavesofemotion)

(Source: rusol, via violentwavesofemotion)


our tragedy begins humid.
in a humid classroom.
with a humid text book. breaking into us.
stealing us from ourselves.
one poem. at a time.

it begins with shakespeare.

the hot wash.
the cool acid. of
dead white men and women. people.

each one a storm.

crashing. into our young houses.
making us islands. easy isolations.
until we are so beleaguered and
with a definition of poetry that is white skin and
not us.
that we tuck our scalding. our soreness.
behind ourselves and
as trauma. as violence. as erasure.
another place we do not exist.
another form of exile
where we should praise. honor. our own starvation.

the little bits of langston. phyllis wheatley.
angelou during black history month. are the crumbs. are the minor boats.
that give us slight rest.

to be waterdrugged into rejecting the nuances of
my own bursting
and to have

to take my name out of my name.
out of where my native poetry lives. in me.
replace it with keats. browning. dickson. wolf. joyce. wilde. wolfe. plath. bronte. hemingway. hughes. byron. frost. cummings. kipling. poe. austen. whitman. blake. longfellow. wordsworth. duffy. twain. emerson. yeats. tennyson. auden. thoreau. chaucer. thomas. raliegh. marlowe. burns. shelley. carroll. elliot…

(what is the necessity of a black child being this high off of whiteness.)

and so. we are here. brown babies. worshipping. feeding. the glutton that is white literature. even after it dies.

(years later. the conclusion:

shakespeare is relative.

white literature is relative.

that we are force fed the meat of
an animal
that our bodies will not recognize. as inherent nutrition.
is not relative.
is inert.)



the hot wash, nayyirah waheed

from ‘nejma’

(via nayyirahwaheed)

(via nayyirahwaheed)


model: Stephen James - photographer: Juan Alvarez - ELLE Vietnam September 2014

  • DSquared2 - Miu Miu - Emporio Armani

Bordighera (1983) - Helmut Newton


Darkness on the edge of town, Yusuke Fukushima

"There are things in my mind I’ve locked away, and there are things that run wild and free."

- jenn satsune (via ohsatsune)

(via psych-facts)

"Every morning I sit at the kitchen table over a tall glass of water swallowing pills. (So my hands won’t shake.) (So my heart won’t race.) (So my face won’t thaw.) (So my blood won’t mold.) (So the voices won’t scream.) (So I don’t reach for knives.) (So I keep out of the oven.) (So I eat every morsel.) (So the wine goes bitter.) (So I remember the laundry.) (So I remember to call.) (So I remember the name of each pill.) (So I remember the name of each sickness.) (So I keep my hands inside my hands.) (So the city won’t rattle.) (So I don’t weep on the bus.) (So I don’t wander the guardrail.) (So the flashbacks go quiet.) (So the insomnia sleeps.) (So I don’t jump at car horns.) (So I don’t jump at cat-calls.) (So I don’t jump a bridge.) (So I don’t twitch.) (So I don’t riot.) (So I don’t slit a strange man’s throat.)"

- Jeanann Verlee, Good Girl (via hellanne)