"If there was one thing I could save from the fire,
he said, the broken arms of the sycamore,
the eucalyptus still trying to climb out of the yard -
your breath on my neck like a music that holds
my hands down, kisses as they burn their way
along my spine -or rain, our bodies wet,
clothes clinging arm to elbow, clothes clinging
nipple to groin - I'll be right here. I'm waiting." -- Richard Siken, Saying Your Names
What to expect: poetry, tattoos, photos, quotes, TV, films, FA/HAES, feminism. For more deets, check the tags or just ask. My feminist rants are housed at femignome.
Whoever loved you, loved you. Loved your scars and their legends, loved each vagabond hair. The first time he caught you—lit up by the bright light of a midnight refrigerator, sneaking cookie dough into your mouth—he knew he would marry you. While you slept he called his mother to tell her, skated his finger down the bend in your nose and imagined it on a future daughter’s face. If he were a surgeon, he would chisel away at his patients until the whole world looked just like you. If he were a painter, there would be one million of your eyes opening all over this gritty metropolis. To him, you are perfect. But he is a simple man and the only way he knows how to tell you this is by turning on the lights when you make love—and you turn them right off.
MEGAN FALLEY; TO THE WOMEN COMPETING ON E! ENTERTAINMENT’S HIT REALITY TELEVISION SHOW, “BRIDALPLASTY”
Children’s lives are always beginning and adults’ lives are always ending. Or is it the opposite? Your childhood is always ending and your adult self is always beginning. You are always learning how to say good-bye to whoever you were at the dinner table the night before.
Alison Espach; The Adults