not your manic pixie dream girl

anonymous asked:

What do you think think (in any verse) is Logan's favorite thing about Veronica? And Veronica's about Logan?

Oh!  This is a great question, and I wish I had time to come up with a thoughtful answer.  

I think that they’re both drawn to the dichotomy of softness and ruthlessness in each other, if that makes sense.  They both seem to get turned-on by seeing the other “being bad” (towards others).  At the same time, I think there’s probably a sense of freedom in being loved by somebody who’s seen you at your absolute worst.  Logan is in love with ALL of Veronica.  He doesn’t reduce her to what she used to be, like Duncan, and he doesn’t turn her into a manic pixie dream girl like Piz.  He loves her when she’s sweet, and he loves her when she’s blackmailing judges.  

Same goes for Veronica.  She doesn’t reduce Logan to Son-of-a-movie-star, or Hollywood Brat staging bum fights.  She loves the person behind the jackass (although the jackass really turns her on).  

Sorry, I think I answered a different question than you asked (why do they love each other, maybe).  But I don’t want to delete the stuff above.  

I think if we’re talking actual favorite qualities, it would have to be their intelligence (on both sides).  Whether they’re together or apart, they light up when they’re bantering with each other.   It’s almost like they’re having sex with words, and I don’t think they get that from other people in their lives.     

Thank you so much for your question, anon!

huge film rec list
  • films about teenagers and coming of age: ghost world, a bronx tale, the breakfast club, girl interrupted, perks of being a wallflower, blue is the warmest color, rushmore, the last picture show, the virgin suicides, submarine, stand by me.
  • films about running away from home to find yourself: frances ha, spirited away, moonrise kingdom, 127 hours.
  • films about transgression, nihilism, and altering reality: fight club, american psycho, donnie darko, naked, the matrix, the piano teacher, martyrs.
  • films about finding your passion: kiki’s delivery service, american beauty, reality bites, school of rock, harold and maude.
  • films about drugs and existentialism: requiem for a dream, enter the void, trainspotting, spun, fear and loathing in las vegas, the trip, christiane f. 
  • films about deconstructing the manic pixie dream girl trope: scott pilgrim vs. the world, amelie, fucking amal, paper towns, shame, annie hall.,  500 days of summer.
  • films about punk rock: sid and nancy, we are the best!, jubilee, rock n roll high school, suburbia, the runaways, rocky horror picture show, ladies and gentlemen the fabulous stains. 
  • films about lesbians: fucking amal, bound, saving face, blue is the warmest color, heavenly creatures, the kids are all right, high art
  • films about unconventional love: eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, adventureland, silver linings playbook, amelie, lars and the real girl, when harry met sally, lost in translation.
  • films about art & artists: the antics roadshow, ai weiwei: never sorry, fame high, just like being there, woodmans, who the fuck Is jackson pollock, jean-michel basquiat: the radiant child, my kid could paint that, mona lisa smile
  • films about girl best friends: thelma & louise, spring breakers, thirteen, pitch perfect, dreamgirls, mystic pizza, the last days of disco, frances ha

message me for any requests!

The Signs as Manic Pixie Dream Girls

*check your rising and Venus signs, as well as your sun

Aries: Margo Roth Spiegelman (Paper Towns)

Taurus: Marla Singer (Fight Club)

Gemini: Penny Lane (Almost Famous)

Cancer: Claire Colburn (Elizabethtown)

Leo: Sheeni Saunders (Youth in Revolt)

Virgo: Clementine Kruczynski (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind)

Libra: Summer (500 Days of Summer)

Scorpio: Alaska Young (Looking for Alaska)

Sagittarius: Lux Lisbon (The Virgin Suicides)

Capricorn: Holly Golightly (Breakfast at Tiffany’s)

Aquarius: Ramona Flowers (Scott Pilgrim v.s. the World)

Pisces: Sam (Garden State)

Every Signs Post

Aries: Stubborn and angry

Tauros: Stubborn and sad

Gemini: Something about dual emotions / conflicting personality

Cancer: Grouchy and overprotective

Leo: Brave, probably a gryffindor

Virgo: The pure mom friend

Libra: Balanced, asks if you’ve tried yoga

Scorpio: evil

Saggitarius: 20x more protective then cancer, has your back too much

Capricorn: Boring conservative business man who loves capitalism

Aquarius: Rebellious emo teen, still listens to mcr probably

Pisces: Dreamy, artist, manic pixie dream girl

“Let me be not too pretty
Hair fried from all that pink dye
Sex when you need it, puppet when you’re bored.
Let me build myself smaller than you.
Let me apologize for when I get caught acting bigger than you.
Let me always wait for this.
Let me work for this.
The convenient thing about being a magical woman is that I can be gone as quickly as I came and when you are a whole person for the first time, the movie is over.
Manic Pixie Dream Girl doesn’t go on. There’s no need for her anymore.
Manic Pixie Dream Girl is too dream girl, and you just woke up.
Once, I told you I was afraid of my father, and for a moment, I looked so human, the audience lost interest.”

Manic Pixie Dream Girl by Olivia Gatwood. 93% of my romantic life. 95% of the people in my life. Sparkles is your manic pixie dream girl. Jenny is not. The glitter washes off, you know.

Too many guys think I’m a concept, or I complete them, or I’m gonna make them alive. But I’m just a fucked-up girl who’s lookin’ for my own peace of mind; don’t assign me yours.
—  Clementine Kruczynski, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.

Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. For a long time Cool Girl offended me. I used to see men – friends, coworkers, strangers – giddy over these awful pretender women, and I’d want to sit these men down and calmly say: You are not dating a woman, you are dating a woman who has watched too many movies written by socially awkward men who’d like to believe that this kind of woman exists and might kiss them. I’d want to grab the poor guy by his lapels or messenger bag and say: The bitch doesn’t really love chili dogs that much – no one loves chili dogs that much! And the Cool Girls are even more pathetic: They’re not even pretending to be the woman they want to be, they’re pretending to be the woman a man wants them to be. Oh, and if you’re not a Cool Girl, I beg you not to believe that your man doesn’t want the Cool Girl. It may be a slightly different version – maybe he’s a vegetarian, so Cool Girl loves seitan and is great with dogs; or maybe he’s a hipster artist, so Cool Girl is a tattooed, bespectacled nerd who loves comics. There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every fucking thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain. (How do you know you’re not Cool Girl? Because he says things like: “I like strong women.” If he says that to you, he will at some point fuck someone else. Because “I like strong women” is code for “I hate strong women.”)

—  Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl
i’ve gone back to being silent / to the girl you never got the chance to leave / with lilies tucked behind my ears / lilacs in my eyes / a quiet kind of commotion / something not everyone knows how to love / the seventh wonder of the world / all refracted rays / mouth like a waterfall / chameleon skin / hair changes with the season / say girl and say insurmountable in the same breath / and light and light and light / and body buried in the meadow / body like dandelion fluff / like tightrope pulled taut / say ballerina / say acrobat with her words / say quiet girl / say selective mutism / say poet but not on command / moonlight under the skin / shine little girl / tell us a story / tell us about your heart filled with water / the weight of this world on your shoulders / the strained neck / muscle pulled taut / poet gone quiet / girl you didn’t notice because she wasn’t interested in changing your world / girl that just wanted to save herself
—  MANIC PIXIE DREAM GIRL WITHOUT THE MANIA, angelea l.

Manic pixie dream girl says, ‘have you heard this record?’ Manic pixie dream girl says let me save you with this record. Let me put the headphones on for you, and smile, while you listen; cut to your point of view, watch me smile while you listen. Hear that? That’s the sound of you becoming a better person.

I’m gonna paint a picture of a bird on your beige wall without your permission and you’re gonna love it. And you thought you hated birds. See me? Encouraging you to take risks? Manic pixie dream girl wants you to do something you’ve never done before. Like go swing-dancing, or smile. You wanna know my name? You never call me by it anyway. If I had to guess, it would probably be a season, or after a dead actress who you loved as a child.

But this isn’t about me! This is about you, and your cubicle job, your white bedroom, your white Honda, your white mother. Manic pixie dream girl says I’m going to save you. Says, don’t worry, you are still the lead role. This is your love story about the way I teach you to live. Everything they know about me they will learn when it is projected onto you, watch the way you pick up my bad habits and make them look good. Manic pixie dream girl talks too much. Says bad words out loud and cries at the commercials. That makes me a funny woman, right? The kind people like to laugh at? It’s easy to root for you when I act like this, so disagreeable, such a manic dream, dream girl, your almost broken accessory.

Manic pixie dream girls says let’s play make believe with my body. I’ll be a vintage dress in an empty prescription bottle, good girl, just bad enough, a burp and a curtsy. Let me be not too pretty, hair fried from all that pink dye, sex when you need it, puppet when you’re bored. Let me build myself smaller than you, let me apologize when I get caught acting bigger than you. Let me always wait for this, let me work for this.

The convenient thing about being a magical woman is that I can be gone as quickly as I came. And when you are a whole person for the first time, the movie is over. Manic pixie dream girl doesn’t go on; there’s no need for her anymore. Manic pixie dream girl is too dream girl, and you just woke up. Once, I told you I was afraid of my father, and for a moment, I looked so human, the audience lost interest. You saw the crow’s feet at the sides of my eyes and a small chip on my front tooth. I looked just like everyone else.

—  Olivia Gatwood, “Manic Pixie Dream Girl” (a transcript)
A Theory

(Gif: Catelyn Stark from Game of Thrones. ESFJ.)

I brought up something the other day in my Margaret Beaufort profile I’ve been thinking about, and wanted to expound on more in-depth: namely, a lot of  fictional characters are not good representations of the type, but a stereotyped representation based on what another type thinks that type looks like.

For example, a low thinker cannot think in the same way as a high thinker, until they understand cognition and what high thinking does; even then, their own mindset will give them a certain bias, in favor of higher feeling. In the same way, a low intuitive cannot write a high intuitive accurately, because they cannot understand how a high intuitive processes information. The same works in reverse, where intuitive are likely not able to authentically represent high sensors, due to their own low sensing.

This raises the speculation that a lot of the extreme cases of a “stereotypical” character are in fact… based on a lower function’s perception of what that function might look like, in a dominant position.

If this is the case, here’s what would and probably does, happen:

Ne-doms: flighty, erratic, shallow, eccentric, and bubbly instead of: extremely broad, changeable, deep, not-quick to form strong opinions, able to adapt quickly to new information, and with profound “intuitive” insights into what is really going on with people, events, and things

Se-doms: reckless, hedonistic, risk-taking, careless super heroes instead of: opportunistic, quick to adapt, observational, intent on affecting immediate change through sensory approaches, and “in tune” with the environment

Te-doms: controlling, oppressive, bossy, ruthless, logical instead of: makes decisions to achieve a tangible result, logical observations, a business-oriented mindset, and an emphasis on high work standards, and bottom lines

Fe-doms: overly emotional, controlling, emotionally manipulative busybodies instead of: emotional depth and control, the desire to connect with people, a natural instinct in finding “ways we are alike” (rather than different), and strong and forthright moral opinions

Ni-doms: rigid and single-minded, long-term goal makers, psychics instead of: open-minded, fluid in their opinions, indecisive, inclined to build visionary ideas about the future, tends to “symbolize” everything, with profound “intuitive” insights into motives

Si-doms: old-fashioned, stuck in the past, traditionalists, hates change instead of: has a strong and natural ability to recognize how things work and how to achieve things in the real world, prefers to orient their sensory world to likes and dislikes, uses past experience and similar experiences when making decisions or approaching new projects

Ti-doms: analytical, eccentric and/or bad-ass, nitpickers instead of: sometimes rigid system-builders who care about precision and both care about and deeply understand how things work

Fi-doms: highly emotional, irrational, easily hurt, does whatever they want, regardless of how others feel about it / you’re not the boss of me instead of: sensitive, emotionally intelligent people with strong ethics and moral standards, incapable of violating their standards of  right and wrong

Since intuitives originated, theorized and continued to explore and expound MBTI, a lot of the sensor profiles online are written by intuitive types, which explains not only their subtle anti-sensor bias (the dull descriptions, the poor understanding of what sensing does, in reducing it to banality) but also real sensors’ inability to self-recognize in the profiles (since… that’s not real sensing being described, but a theory of what sensing is, by an intuitive who scorns sensing). The further emphasis on behavior, rather than thinking process, leads to even more confusion … and mistypes.

In an ideal world, descriptions of cognitive functions would be written by the people who use them, enabling less “theorizing” (from other types, who have a bias) and more “actuality” in terms of helping others understand how a function works. When a high Ti user recently explained to me his Ti “must categorize everything before I even deal with it; what kind of a sweater is it? It’s not just any sweater, it’s a Cardigan!” a light bulb went on over my head, and for the first time I started to comprehend actual high Ti.

The same thing happened to me, when a high Te user explained to me the thought process of Te: if it has no intrinsic value in the real world, it is irrelevant – in other words, a Te villain needs a Te-reason to be evil – he never does anything “to mess with people” – that’s poor Fe; but to “gain from it” (financially, perhaps? To increase his power, so that he can achieve greater things? What PURPOSE does this action serve? What does it gain me?).

I’m not sure what I hope to gain from this post, except… this is my thought process at the moment. Sometimes, a fictional character tells you more about the mind of the person writing it than it tells you about actual cognitive processes. The shallow, immature, or irrational behaviors of some characters are not the behaviors to expect from a mature, real person of that type; they are a stereotype, based on what someone with poor usage (or even scorn for) that sequence of functions thinks that “kind” of a person looks like.

In other words: real ENFPs are not “manic pixie dream girls.” Sorry, sensor boys, those girls are your idealized concept of what the “perfect” girl looks like, to get you out of your rut – but she doesn’t exist. And all INTJs are not rigid, narrow-minded geniuses. Nor are all ESTPs reckless assholes who don’t care who they hurt. Or all INFJs prophets.

You can fill in the rest.

- ENFP Mod

4

“Remember when you told me you were infatuated with all your friends? And I asked ‘even me’? I’m choosing your answer for you: No. Not me. Not because I’m different than the rest, not because I’m The One, or some manic pixie dream girl here to whisk you away from your problems…but because I scare you. I am everything you’ve been guarding yourself from your entire life, and you’ve never told anyone this much before. And it terrifies you. So here’s a question for you, Santi: Why me?”

“Because you see right through me.”

Manic pixie dream girl says, ‘have you heard this record?’
Manic pixie dream girl says let me save you with this record.
Let me put the headphones on for you, and smile, while you listen;
cut to your point of view, watch me smile while you listen.

Hear that? That’s the sound of you becoming a better person.
I’m gonna paint a picture of a bird on your beige wall without your permission and you’re gonna love it.
And you thought you hated birds.
See me? Encouraging you to take risks?
Manic pixie dream girl wants you to do something you’ve never done before.
Like go swing-dancing, or smile.

You wanna know my name? You never call me by it anyway.
If I had to guess, it would probably be a season, or after a dead actress who you loved as a child.
But this isn’t about me!
This is about you, and your cubicle job, your white bedroom, your white Honda, your white mother.

Manic pixie dream girl says I’m going to save you.
Says, don’t worry, you are still the lead role. This is your love story about the way I teach you to live.
Everything they know about me they will learn when it is projected onto you, watch the way you pick up my bad habits and make them look good.
Manic pixie dream girl talks too much. Says bad words out loud and cries at the commercials.
That makes me a funny woman, right?
The kind people like to laugh at?
It’s easy to root for you when I act like this, so disagreeable, such a manic dream, dream girl, your almost broken accessory.

Manic pixie dream girls says let’s play make believe with my body.
I’ll be a vintage dress in an empty prescription bottle, good girl, just bad enough, a burp and a curtsy.
Let me be not too pretty, hair fried from all that pink dye, sex when you need it, puppet when you’re bored.
Let me build myself smaller than you, let me apologize when I get caught acting bigger than you.
Let me always wait for this, let me work for this.

The convenient thing about being a magical woman is that I can be gone as quickly as I came.
And when you are a whole person for the first time, the movie is over.
Manic pixie dream girl doesn’t go on; there’s no need for her anymore.
Manic pixie dream girl is too dream girl, and you just woke up.

Once, I told you I was afraid of my father, and for a moment, I looked so human, the audience lost interest.
You saw the crow’s feet at the sides of my eyes and a small chip on my front tooth.
I looked just like everyone else.

When they tell you you are made of stars,
do not let them forget what stars are made of.
Stars are not glitter, not stickers on the ceiling,
not there for decoration.
Stars are chunks of collapsing galaxy. They are
hundred-thousand mile wide nuclear furnaces
that consume their surroundings into death.
They are not friendly; they do not exist
to write poems about. Stars
are not made of metaphors. You
are not made of other people’s words.

When they tell you you are made of stars.
look them in the eye and remind them
that so are they, and so is the earth,
and so is the gum on the bottom of your shoes,
and so is the fist you will hit them with
the next time they try to placate you
with their condescending bullshit –

When they tell you you are different from other girls,
ask them why you should want to be.
Do not let them call you dream girl.
Do not let them trap you up on a pedestal,
surrounded by books that cannot hurt them.
Read things that can hurt them.
Your mind is a forest richer than folklore;
do not let your curiosity be reduced to an accessory.
Your intelligence is not a fashion statement.
Your existence is not a novelty.
You are not a metaphor
for someone else’s problems.

When they tell you you are made of stars,
tell them you have always known this.
Tell them you have fire in your bone marrow,
that you are burning with the deaths
of the entire universe before you.

When they tell you you are made of stars,
tell them you know.
Tell them they should keep their distance.

—  When They Tell You You Are Made of Stars - Melissa Victoria

you wake up from a deep sleep because of a strange howling noise coming from the other room. there’s a strange blue glow at the edges of your vision and the clock says 3:95 mm. you enter your kitchen to find me, floating a few inches off the ground, in cheap mismatched cotton lingerie offset by a floor-length silk robe of deep purple and a tiara sits lopsided on my head. one(1) ugg boot on my right foot and a stitch(626) necklace hangs down close to my navel. my hair is a curly frizzy mess that moves around on its own, whispering secrets of the universe in a lost language you can somehow just barely understand. my nails are painted gold but severely chipped and it appears as though i was finger painting earlier. my glasses are smudged and dirty beyond comprehension but you can see a trace of fire burning thru my retinas. im holding a bottle of red wine in one hand and a large can of whipped cream in the other. ‘dancing queen’ by the iconic abba is playing on loop in the distance, loud enough to be noticeable but quiet enough to make you feel nostalgic and dissociative. the howling noise that woke you isn’t even me (although i am crying), it’s al seven of your cats, backs hunched up, afraid. but wait, you don’t have any cats. you ask me what’s going on. i ask you if you have any buffalo chicken dip. you tell me you don’t have any dip, knowing full well there’s a fresh batch sitting in your fridge. i am understandably enraged, and lay a curse on your last born child. last, just for some extra added anxiety. you tell me that’s a dick move. i tell you to watch your fucking language. a snake slithers out of my belly button and like, reiterates that you should watch your fucking language, like dude, she’s a lady, be respectful, come on. i tell the snake i can fight my own battles. we start arguing and the loop of ‘dancing queen’ gets a little louder. you interrupt us and ask me to leave. i produce a sack and start floating around your kitchen, taking food out of the cabinets that i like. you tell me to stop robbing you. i tell you i’ll be back for your last born child when you least expect it, before chanting ominously in what you’re pretty sure is that weird star trek language, and floating out your window, the sack of stolen food with me. halfway out the window my long silk robe snags on something and i face-plant on the ground and stay down for a few moments before popping back up, insisting i meant to do that with a very embarrassed smile, and saying i’ll see you later before flying back into the night sky. soon, all you can see of me is a tiny speck. dancing queen is still playing on a loop. the cats are still there. you’re welcome. three weeks later you meet a lovely if not awkward and frumpy girl chugging a blue powerade in the middle of barnes and nobles. she has messy brown hair and purple glasses and you are struck by the strong sensation that you know her from somewhere. it hits you that she could be your soulmate, if not your manic pixie dream girl. you ask her to go out with you, but she turns you down, like what the hell, why would she go out with a random guy coming up to her in a store, she doesn’t know you. you spend the next week getting to know her and she really makes you work for it before finally agreeing to a date. after a whirlwind three years of a fairytale love story you get married with a simple but elegant ceremony. six months later, laying in bed with your wife, the love of your life, you turn to her and ask her if she wants to start trying to have kids. i, your wife, grin widely, and say i would love nothing more than to have children with you. It Begins.

title: not your (manic pixie dream) girl
summary1:
The Art of Seduction: Demonstrated by Uraraka Ochako and Bakugou Katsuki 
summary2: There were angels, demons, and Uraraka Ochako.
snippet: 

She’s straddling him, neither by will nor force. Simply and solely by duty.

(shamefully, embarrassingly, and evidently prudishly so)

His dark eyes are hazy, relaxed, even (as if this is nothing new to him or as if this is nothing at all) and Ochako suddenly feels faint, despite not having used an ounce of her quirk. How humiliating.

“Uraraka-chan,” she flinches at her name, eyes flickering over to the teammate addressing her to her right. For a frog, Tsuyu seems to be watching her like a hawk. “You’re getting redder by the second. You’re about to put Kirishima-kun’s hair to shame.”

Bakugou Katsuki almost smirks, but the uncomfortability of their situation makes it difficult to be the level of smug he strives to be. He tries his best to conceal it, gritting his teeth and spewing out, “From Angelface to Cherrybomb.”

She would slap him but she knows he’d catch her hand before the clap could land a hefty sting on his cheek. It’s as if he could either foresee her instincts or read her mind; regardless, always undeniably being two steps ahead of her, shown in the way his brow raises, sharp teeth becoming visible.

“I’m not Deku, you know,” Katsuki snidely comments with that signature Bakugou Scowl. “So quit acting like I am. There’s no reason to get all weak and flushed over this. It’s just a fucking act; you do realize that, right? Get your shit together.”

.

.

It'sforpracticeit'sforpracticeit'sforpracticeit'sforprac—

“You’ve got the sex appeal of a chair,” Katsuki deadpans, disrupting her incessant internal reminders set to distract her from the fact that his groin is sunk in between her thighs on the small seat they’re sharing. “Actually, scratch that. Chairs get a lot of ass.”

“Shut UP,” she fumes.

“We’re fucking dead if you keep this shit up.”

The art of gravity? Check. The art of heroism? Check. The art of seduction? Now that’s something she’s never particularly prioritized and had yet to even consider mastering prior to her discovery of this mission. The painstaking evidence of such is enough for her to lose her composure altogether.

[read more]

a few of my spoken word/slam poetry favs!! :)

1. Loyce Gayo- How We Forget 

“We forgot burning cities. We forgot cities are still burning.” 

2. Sierra DeMulder- Mrs. Dahmer 

 “Will I be forgiven for the sins I did not commit, but created?” 

3. Jeanann Verlee- Unsolicited Advice to Adolescent Girls with Crooked Teeth and Pink Hair 

“When the boy with the blue mohawk swallows your heart and opens his wrists, hide the knives, bleach the bathtub, pour out the vodka. Every time.” 

4. Siaara Freeman- The Drug Dealer’s Daughter 

“Some nights, I put on my father’s chalk outline and teach it how to walk. My face is a haunted house my mother screams at out of habit, not fear. Most days I am an alley that no one will enter alone.” 

5. Rachel Wiley- 10 Honest Thoughts on Being Loved by a Skinny Boy 

“I say, I am fat. He says, No, you are beautiful. I wonder why I cannot be both.”

6. Melissa Lozada-Oliva- Like Totally Whatever 

“And like, maybe? I’m always speaking in questions? Because I’m so used to being cut off.” 

7. Imani Cezanne- The Hunger Games 

“I can’t help but notice how painting poverty in whiteface makes it fantasy. Makes it fiction.” 

8. Arati Warrier- Witch Hunt 

“I picture myself coming out and my parents heartbreak flooding all of India.” 

9. T. Miller- The Other Black Man 

 “Joke: A woman, a black, and a gay all walk into the same bar. In the same body. Punchline: her life. Punchline: her death.” 

10. Ariana Brown- Volver, Volver 

 “Can you still be considered an immigrant if you are traveling to a place that was yours to begin with?” 

11. Crystal Valentine- Black Privilege 

“Black Privilege is having the same sense of humor as Jesus. Remember how he smiled on the cross?” 

12. Hieu Minh Nguyen- Stubborn Inheritance 

“It took my mother eight years to accept me for being gay, for eight years I sat and watched my house burn.” 

13. Khary Jackson- Carolina 

“They stopped asking me why I howled in my sleep. They knew better than to call you a fever.” 

14. Rachel McKibbens- Last Love 

“Go with the one who loves you biblically. The one whose love lifts its head to you despite its broken neck.” 

15. Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz- For People Who Keep Asking Me Why I’m Still In Slam 

“Because I have heard poets say things in front of roomful of strangers that made me pulse, made me sweat, made me want to push further, risk everything, be that beautiful.”

16. Olivia Gatwood- Manic Pixie Dream Girl

“Once, I told you I was afraid of my father, and for a moment I was so human that the audience lost interest.”

17. Aaliyah Jihad- From My Mother to Her Late Daughter

“This home is your shrine now. Your portrait is painted in Jack Daniel’s stains in the linoleum. The smell of your hair is trapped in billows of fireplace smoke.”

18. Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib- Summer of 2009

“Which is to say that we are too old for all this shit. And by ‘this shit,’ I of course mean living.”

19. Christine Howey- My Passing, 1988

“And after building up my courage in the car for two hours, I walk inside.”

20. Suzi Q. Smith- Black Hole Mouth

“If you could just be black enough, if your hips could narrow and your lips tuck in, if your hair could be more polite, if your face would just apologize, always arguing with itself so publicly.”