reading the poem

I was hanged for living alone
for having blue eyes and a sunburned skin,
tattered skirts, few buttons,
a weedy farm in my own name,
and a surefire cure for warts;

Oh yes, and breasts,
and a sweet pear hidden in my body.
Whenever there’s talk of demons
these come in handy.

—  Margaret Atwood, from Half-Hanged Mary in “Morning In The Burned House”
I was glass and you broke me time after time. Now that all those pieces turned into sand, it hurts you that I can’t be broken again.
—  Random thoughts
Demolished by Beauty

How can I compose
While consumed in awe
By the lofty tales of a bard?  

How can I sing
With tearful eyes,
When I’ve been razed to dust
By a whirlwind of truth?

“Perfection,”
Rips through my mind  
And I must indulge
Getting good and lost
In the curves  
Of her heavenly songs

there are people who are rays of sunshine, cherry blossoms, vanilla candles and the colors of dusk.

there are people who are marble floors, roman temples, black ink and the smell of the earth after rain.

there are people who are star-gazing, holding your breath, little smiles, subtle touches and soft fabric.

who are you?

And maybe
the most terrible—
yet the bravest thing
I’ve ever done,
was to continue walking
no matter how slow
my feet move,
no matter
how many times
I took a rest
and sat on the ground—
to stand up
and travel
this tough road
of mine,
when all I ever wanted
was to come back
to that wonderful moment
when things
never seem
to be wrong,
when things never hurt
so much—
and when everything
seems perfectly fine.
—  ma.c.a // Long Way Home

it is part of the
human experience to feel pain
do not be afraid
open yourself to it

- evolving

I love you,” he shouts at her.
“Well I don’t love you.” She fires back.
“Because if I loved you, then I would notice how you tap your foot when you’re nervous. And how you bite your lip when you’re concentrating. And how you always, always, put pepper on first, then salt. If I loved you I would know that you hate dancing, which makes sense because if I loved you I would know that you’re a terrible dancer. I would know that you can’t look in a mirror for too long because you have your fathers eyes, and those eyes remind you of him leaving. I would know that the reason you don’t drink isn’t just because you hate the taste of whiskey. I would know that the ocean was your safe haven, your escape. But I don’t love you.” she ends, her lips trembling. She stares into those green eyes of his, her breath shaking, the words she had just spoken finally hitting her.
“But maybe, maybe I do.
—  An Excerpt From a Book I’ll Never Write #13

Someday,
someone will
hold my hand
so gentle—
not so tight,
someday
someone will
look directly
in my eyes
and tell me
the words
I’ve been
waiting
to hear.

He will
bring back
the stars
in my sky.
And the flowers
in my garden
that had dried.

Someday,
someone will
never let me go.
And I’ll be glad
to stay with him
forever.

—  ma.c.a // and yet, you weren’t my someone

Tell society no.
Demand respect.
Burn like the brightest fire you’ve ever seen.
Glow like the sun itself is burning beneath your skin.
For once be the opposite of graceful.

Don’t become “just a girl”,
Become a statement.

—  international women’s day