maddex-elise - Tumblr blog

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My Opponent Is Palling Around With Communists, Rich Oil Companies And Drug Dealers.

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My Opponent Is Taking Donations From Oil Cartels, Wall Street Insiders And Washington Elitists.

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The Family Sweatbox

    All four of us shared a room

two beds stacked high and a crib

thank God I got my own bunk.

It was worse in the summer

that windowless square smelled of

sweaty limbs, while whiny children

 cried through the night. That house

 was never ours. At age ten

I knew what it meant to rent,

 but I didn’t care for owning

shag carpet and dingy walls

 though it was better than the

concrete yards and grandma’s house.

 We scattered glow in the dark

stars on our ceiling to bring

the world into our small box.

 We coated the bunks with every

sticker we could find. Things got

better in the winter. Laughter leaked

 through our cracked door. We shared

beds for warmth and secrets for

secrets. tomorrow I will

 be in my own room. Painted

 blue, with a window, but alone.

Away from my sisters.

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I felt the hot pavement,

 my feet stuck to my sandals

 like roach traps on the kitchen

 floor. Black tired bodies

surrounded the corner, I

 felt the heat radiate from

their skin.

 The seat came to her rescue,

 her fingers marked with pricks

 of needles jabbing after

 every turn of fabric. She spoke

 her mind, though she

was enclosed by standing

 blank pages, white

 and corrupt. She was small

and soft, but the walls of

 color were breakable.

  We filed on to the

 city bus, Naïve with laughter filling

 us to the brim. As if we were silly children,

 unaware of the penalties

of too many sweets before dinner.

 The driver twitching at our presence, She

 popped her gum like warning shots

to put us in our place.

We were not kids anymore

I sat tall in my seat, though

I knew they saw my color before

 my smile. Passengers, too afraid

to go against their kind. I think of Rosa

and I wonder why I didn’t stay strong.

[maddex-elise]

Taking a creative writing course. Sorry, I have been gone quite a while.

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cambridge university students were asked on campus why they needed feminism. here are 60 answers. click the link for over 600 more.

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(1) President Abraham Lincoln, who had depression (2) Writer Virginia Woolf, who had bipolar disorder (3) Artist Vincent Van Gogh, who had bipolar disorder (4) Writer Sylvia Plath, who had depression (5) Mathematician John Nash (from A Brilliant Mind), who had schizophrenia

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Every nigga say they got a master plan Think they can hold us women down cause they a man But let me tell you something they don't think we know We don't have to sit pretty for them, ya know Every woman has the ability to conceive more than their man's baby Who cares if he want to plant his seed Stand up and let them hear your needs See us women have a master plan And ladies you don't need a man To all the men that think they got something for me I'm tellin you now I won't stay to see See I'm working on my master plan And I ain't gonna be tied down by no man I'll get myself where I need to be Your love is not a priority

[maddex-elise]

Cheiloproclitic - Being attracted to someones lips. Quidnunc - One who always has to know what is going on. Ultracrepidarian - Of one who speaks or offers opinions on matters beyond their knowledge. Apodyopis - The act of mentally undressing someone. Gymnophoria - The...

[maddex-elise]

cosmogyral: (adj.) whirling about the universe; ex: The cosmogyral galaxies are fascinating to learn about.

epalpebrate: (adj.) to lack eyebrows; ex: Many people think that Matt Smith and Mads Mikkelsen are epalpebrate.

fallaciloquence: (n.) deceitful speech; ex: His...

[maddex-elise]

“Hey man, take my picture!”

“I can’t do it. It’s too dark.”

“Yeah, we need some light. Let’s go over there.”

“Are you homeless?”

“Yes, I am.”

“How long have you been homeless?”

“15 years. I’ve been in Boston 8 months. Before that I was in Washington, Virginia, New York, Philadelphia, Louisiana, Florida…”

“Why didn’t you stay in Florida? It’s so much warmer.”

“I wanted to see my family. But they don’t want to see me. They don’t understand depression. They treat me like dirt. Homeless people treat me better than my family.”

“And what happened 15 years ago? How did you end up on the streets?”

“I tried to burn myself twice. I had 30 surgeries. I was dead two times, but God brought me back. I don’t know why.”

“And why did you do it?”

“I was depressed. Why you crying?”

“Because you are a beautiful person, and my family is really messed up, and I’ve been very depressed. I think I can understand you.”

“Yes, I am a good person. And when you take people’s pictures, don’t disrespect them.”

“No, man, I won’t. I like people. That’s why I take their pictures.”

“And when you make your portfolio, don’t denigrate people. Let the pictures speak for themselves.”

“I will. Are you safe on the streets?”

“Yes, I am…And now I have $8 to buy me some food.”

“That’s all I have. Next time I see you, I will give you more.”

“No, man. It ain’t all about money. Give me a hug. And next time you see me, give me a hug again. And thanks for taking my picture.”

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I deflect warmth of any kind. I remember when I was 13 the first boy I ever kissed looked at me with disturbed eyes when he reached to hold my hand. My skin was cold to the touch I guess. Colder than normal by the look of it. He tried to warm my cold and frosted fingers, but I seemed to just pass...

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Sometimes you just need to scream But there is a problem with this It is equivalent with a need to be saved Where is a place I can yell bloody murder And no one will come to my rescue? I don't mean to cause a frenzy I only need to uncork this bottle of rage I try to do everything right I try to be all and do all This pressure will surely be my demise

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Sex Worker: Still not asking for it by dyke-recovery

I’m a feminist and a sex worker and i am so very, very sick of the “is it rape or theft if you fuck a hooker?” or the i use to get “You work in a strip club you shouldn’t get pissed off when someone tries to touch you, you’re the one working there”. Sorry but this is a service, not the selling of ones’ body or body parts. We own us, we decide how much we do, NOT the client or patron. We have the same rights as every other woman; to feel safe not only in our personal lives but in our work lives. It is not okay to do more than what is agreed to when paying for a service from a sex worker. If you are told no, you are told NO.

If a banker gets robbed did he deserve it because he is a banker? No.

If a soldier is shot during war, did he deserve to be shot purely for being a soldier? No.

Does a psychologist deserve to be verbally attacked because they’re paid to listen to other people’s thoughts? No.

So does a sex worker deserve to have their services abused purely because they are working in the sex industry? No.

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God I miss those hands

Today I remembered your hands They weren't as large as mine But I could feel their strength Every time your palm touched the small of my back To me, they were two barriers from the outside getting in Protectors and lovers I loved lining ours up against one another And pressing real hard We would lock eyes and stay there in wonder The tips of mine towered over but your palms swallowed me You were the base and the root of the tree I was the branches and the life from thee I craved the heat and energy from our touch Your hands were everything My fingertips would fall in the crevices of each line They felt so deep like they could carry me and my burdens Nothing could ruin me and I would ruin nothing Your hands could withstand me All of me All of me could be held and saved in those hands

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I'm in that awkward little half step between needing to party all the time and settling down

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How quietly we endure all that falls upon us.

Khalid Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns (via noorag)