Angela's Influence

i blow brains; cobain

12,748 notes

He says ‘I don’t get it, why are you still a virgin at 24?’

He says ‘I don’t believe you, I’ve seen you walk, virgins don’t walk like that’

He says, ‘That ain’t natural, people are supposed to fuck.’

He asks ‘Why though? No offence though.’

I ask ‘When was your first time?’

He says ‘I was 12’

He says ‘I know what you’re thinking, that’s too young.’

I look at his knuckles, he has two good hands.

He says ‘She was older than me.’

I ask ‘How old?’

And he says ‘It’s better that the girl is older, that’s how I learnt all things I know’

He licks his lips.

I ask again ‘How old?’

He says ‘I could use one finger to make you sob’

I think of my brother in prison and I can’t remember his face.

I ask again ‘How old?’

He says ‘Boys become men in the laps of women, you know?’

I think of my mothers faced lined with her bad choices in men.

He says ‘If you were mine you wouldn’t get away with this shit, I’d eat you for hours, I’d gut you like fruit.’

I think of my cousins circumcision, how she feels like a mermaid, not human from the waist down.

He says ‘I’d look after you, you know?’

I laugh, I ask for the last time ‘How old?’

He says ‘34.’

He says ‘She was beautiful though and I know what you’re thinking but it’s not like that, I’m a man, I’m a man, I’m a man. No one could ever hurt me’.

Warsan Shire, Crude Conversations With Boys Who Fake Laughter Often (via ethiopienne)

(Source: cactuslungs, via naturaleyez)

1 note

Drunken ramblings

And this is how I remember the sun
It is in a cup
And you are the shadow
And we are naked
And there is no recollection of heartbreak
Just me
And you
And drunken nights
And broken rules
And laughter
And theory
And we
And then I remember
That you made excuses
As to why we would never be
Only to tell me you loved me
In passing conversation
You are indeed an endless ironic memory
One that says
“I love you”
In a suicidal manner
One that says
“Here is what I need”
And never take it

Filed under poem poetry prose love

625 notes

alternate names for black boys
by Danez Smith

1. smoke above the burning bush
2. archnemesis of summer night
3. first son of soil
4. coal awaiting spark & wind
5. guilty until proven dead
6. oil heavy starlight
7. monster until proven ghost
8. gone
9. phoenix who forgets to un-ash
10. going, going, gone
11. gods of shovels & black veils
12. what once passed for kindling
13. fireworks at dawn
14. brilliant, shadow hued coral
15. (I thought to leave this blank
but who am I to name us nothing?)
16. prayer who learned to bite & sprint
17. a mother’s joy & clutched breath

As the world watched the tumultuous events in Ferguson, Mo., over the last week, a new hashtag was born: #IfTheyGunnedMeDown. The meme was photographic: what images would the media use if I died? But the question, at its heart, was one of naming.

Kid or criminal? Victim or threat? Brother, son, friend — or thug? One of us, or other?

Danez Smith grapples with the power of naming, and the powerlessness of being named, in this poem. Poetry Magazine tweeted it out earlier today, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

— Camila

(via nprbooks)

(via venessamarco)

3 notes

For Landon.

When your best friend dies
Do not blame the freeway
She has always been an open road
Waiting for some unsuspecting boy
To trip on her lines
See, she is not the problem
Her inability to forgive
And take whenever she wants
Is the only thing she knows
To you, he was the world
But to her,
He was just another body

When your best friend dies
Do not grow jealous of the car
How it was the last thing holding him
The last thing he danced with
Do not be upset at the car
For it was the last thing holding him
Your precious boy
How it couldn’t find the grip
To keep him from flying out of its ribcage
Do not blame every moving car
That resembles the failure that lost your pal

Do not blame the driver
Understand that she is both mourning
And burying guilt
One of which isn’t even hers to bear
Do not think she has moved on
Like she doesn’t remember
Do not think her friends are helping her forget
Do not believe that her scars are any more real than yours
Because hers are on skin
Do not fold yourself inside of her body
Trying to think of how you could have done it better
That is not yours to bear

When your best friend dies
Do not blame him for dying
We do not get to choose how we go
Let alone do we get the choice of staying
When it is time
I’m sure our departure is its own form of consent
Do not blame him for not coming back
Do not blame the other passengers for coming back
Do not blame
And blame
And blame
Until it feels like normal conversation
Do not curse the drive home
Do not feel guilty for arriving every time
Do not feel guilty for surviving what he did not

When your best friend dies
Listen to the songs you loved
Watch the movies he loved
Love the people he loved
Even when they hurt you
Love them anyway
Because they, too, loved a dying boy once
And they remember him
In ways you never could
Be okay
And live

Filed under poem poetry prose late night writing unedited love mourning rest in peace I love you Landon