-to accompany the Sol one

an abridged list of angels

my mother. anyone who lets me merge on I-77. the woman who pled stop, masked by a weak giggle, at the man who groped me on the train. every black kid who’s ever been shot. Mary Lambert. Jasmine from high school who told me i was beautiful once. my sister’s unborn child. the inventor of chocolate pudding. the willow tree that didn’t break when E swung out over the lake like that. whoever paid for my Starbucks in the drive-thru. Nikki who holds the door for everyone. Hannah who said she likes my pink tails. Judge Aquilina. everyone who has ever touched me gently. my dogs. wind that comes to the Piedmont. the kid i nanny, even if she told me i’d die before she did. girls at concerts. the rare customer that says thank you. Cat who braids my hair. D who still writes letters. see? there is still good. my earth still hurts but there is still good.

Sylvia Plath was right

About what?

“Being born a woman is an awful tragedy. Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, bar room regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording —all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yet, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.”

Home is where the heart is.

Kiss her tummy before you eat her coochie

Faxts

— Ingeborg Bachmann, from Three Paths to the Lake; “Eyes to Wonder,”

Yes, I am needy. Yes, I am demanding. Yes, tomorrow I am waking up in a place I do not call home, & yes, this is the first time I’m seeing you clearly in the dark.

— Parisa Thepmankorn, from “Upon Stopping to Talk to Dahlia On Broad Street,” published in Cosmonauts Avenue

via weheartit

Brigitte Bardot

La Notte | Michelangelo Antonioni

….anyways i’m sick of being ugly