Here's a long sweet anon msg for you. You're a good lookin guy, i love your blog, i love seeing pictures that you put up here. yes i have sent you msgs before, i just have fell in love with your blog. and i think you're just so super cute, i wish you were single and lived here, and you could be with me. and cuddle with me and let me love you and do you and do dirty things to you, oh yes it would happen. that is all.
I hit the intersections where your shoulders meet your neck, passing through the car wrecks of ex-boyfriends who parallel parked on the dead ends. and I just hope your skin lends me an extra mile so I can slow down, take a while to admire the landscape, drape my arm over your being there. this time when it comes to your skin, I’m a drunk driver trying to walk a straight line.
I’ve been pulled over so much that your simple touch is enough to make me assume the position—wishing I could stay there, where your hand searches my body for contraband that could land me in the jail of your ribcage. Because road rage is a sickness and my medicine is your skin. I could spend the rest of my life circling the same block, wondering where does the world hide its private stock of people like you.
“I guess some of this mad right-wing love comes from the idea that in America, anyone can become a Rich Guy if he just works hard and saves his pennies. Mitt Romney has said, in effect, “I’m rich and I don’t apologize for it.” Nobody wants you to, Mitt. What some of us want—those who aren’t blinded by a lot of bullshit persiflage thrown up to mask the idea that rich folks want to keep their damn money—is for you to acknowledge that you couldn’t have made it in America without America. That you were fortunate enough to be born in a country where upward mobility is possible (a subject upon which Barack Obama can speak with the authority of experience), but where the channels making such upward mobility possible are being increasingly clogged. That it’s not fair to ask the middle class to assume a disproportionate amount of the tax burden. Not fair? It’s un-fucking-American is what it is. I don’t want you to apologize for being rich; I want you to acknowledge that in America, we all should have to pay our fair share. That our civics classes never taught us that being American means that—sorry, kiddies—you’re on your own. That those who have received much must be obligated to pay—not to give, not to “cut a check and shut up,” in Governor Christie’s words, but to pay—in the same proportion. That’s called stepping up and not whining about it. That’s called patriotism, a word the Tea Partiers love to throw around as long as it doesn’t cost their beloved rich folks any money.”—
In just our underwear, so our skin can touch? Can I hold you while you wrap yourself around me? I’ll play with your hair and drag my fingertips across your skin. I’ll peck at your neck while you giggle and tell me to stop. We could whisper sweet things to each other over pillows that no one could hear. We’d just stare in each others eyes until a smile cracked the silence of our lips.
“You won’t allow me to go to school.
I won’t become a doctor.
One day you will be sick.”—
Poem written by an 11 year old Afghan girl
This poem was recorded in a NYT magazine article about female underground poetry groups in Afghanistan. An amazing article about the ways in which women are using a traditional two line poetry form to express their resistance to male oppression, their feelings about love (considered blasphemous), and their doubts about religion.
“I am in the right place. Just as all the stars and planets are in their perfect orbit and in Divine right order, so are you. The heavens are in perfect alignment, and so are you. You may not understand everything that is going on with your limited human mind. However, you know that on the cosmic level, you must be in the right place, at the right time, doing the right thing. Positive thoughts are what you choose to think. This present experience is a stepping-stone to new awareness and greater glory. A rose is always beautiful, always perfect, and ever changing. This is the way we are. We are always perfect wherever we are in life.”—Louise L. Hay (via misscannabliss)