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Click here to meet THE GREAT DESTROYER OF WORLDS. No, but really. He wants to talk to you!
SUBMIT TO THE DARK LORD.
With one easy payment of 1 million trillion your couch goes to college dollars.
Please send to the moon or my Jeep or my dog.
maybe i wear lipstick so that
you will see my pretty pink mouth
wrapping around a coffee cup lid
and be distracted enough not to notice
that i am intelligent and powerful;
maybe i draw my brows into high arches
so you will look at my unimpressed skepticism
and overlook my spiteful glare
as a trick of my silly, girlish routine.
maybe i wear my heels so high and thin
so that i grasp your attention with the sway of my hips
as i listen to the click-clack-click against the floor
and know that if you should try to overpower me
i walk on sharpened knives.
maybe when i laugh at your worthless jokes
i am really baring my fangs
waiting patiently for the day
that i sink them into your neck.
i am not made of porcelain pleasantries;
you will find that these things are my armor
to keep you at a distance
so you do not step on me and shatter
my fragile control.
i am not a husk — i am not wilting.
i am turning my head
so that the fire blazing through my eyes
does not catch on the accelerant of your sweaty palms
and burn your bones to dust.
i am not your pretty girl;
i am a fury, a faerie, a phoenix —
a forest of werewolves and wendigos
that will carve out your chest
so that the next time i paint my pretty pink lips
i will taste the copper tang of your dying breaths. R.K., I Am The Wolf Only Barely Contained (via jameskerk)
Hollywood has no problem
Finding people of color
To play terrorists, thugs,
And mindless villains
But casting one to be a hero
Those roles are reserved
For the actors and actresses
Who are the best for the part
But why does that always translate to
These roles are white only
eat my arms
barter my legs (make my thighs into altars of grief)
skin that does not drink night
hair that is not angry
body that is not soil.
i place curses on my flesh
call them diets
tell my ancestors
they are ugly
howl at my nose until it bleeds.
run my heart across my teeth, repeatedly
i am dying
to be beautiful
beautiful is something
i will never
be. by the time we are seven, nayyirah waheed (via nayyirahwaheed)
is a word we barely know. but know we are not.
so then i say this to you.
you. with the low sun face. with the burning mountain eyes.
you. with the skin is that is always
dusted with stars.
you. with the soil in your thigh. arm. lips.
you person of color.
you are precious.
you are precious.
you are precious.
spend time with this.
with a red cup full of Birthday Cake flavored vodka
wearing a headdress
made of neon Dollar Store chicken feathers.
You’re half naked in a grassy field
with drugstore lipstick smeared under your eyes
and wearing moccasins from Urban Outfitters.
You can’t wait for Coachella
so you can finally smoke a peace pipe in a tepee
and find your Spirit Animal.
You think Native American culture is so beautiful
and clumsily show it with your
hashtags on tumblr and Instagram.
But when actual Indigenous people tell you that
Gypsy, Squaw and Red Injun are all racist slurs
Headdresses are sacred
and war paint on your white face is insulting
“I’m just appreciating your beautiful culture!
I’m 1/16th Cherokee.”
Ignoring the fact that running around
naked in the woods on shrooms
will not connect you with any tribe
and that your great great great great grandmother
along with the rest of the Cherokee people
never wore headdresses. "1/16th Cherokee" by sumblr (via calamityjaneporter)