thatlittlebravegirl - Tumblr blog

[thatlittlebravegirl]

Tara Bray, from “Listen” / Tony Hoagland, from “Peaceful Transition”, What Narcissism Means to Me / Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God / Mary Oliver, “When I Am Among the Trees”, Devotions

[thatlittlebravegirl]

Poplar Street, Chen Chen

Angels in America, Tony Kushner

All About Love, bell hooks

[thatlittlebravegirl]

[thatlittlebravegirl]

Literally crying omfg

now see I like goats. goats use their brains to invent new crimes and formulate evil plots, which means they are often preoccupied with their own inner worlds and the logistical problems of how to maximize the impacts of their mischief. unlike rams. which have no interest in criminal activities more complicated than giving and receiving as many concussions as possible.

[thatlittlebravegirl]

EVERY SUMMERTIME, WE’RE KISSED BY THE MORNING

& i hope this is how you’ll always remember us in the future. june is heralded by the singing cicadas, humid breeze, & your lips curling around the rim of an over-sweetened cà phê sữa đá. the cusp of spring to summer has softened the world with a mist. the emerald leaves of freshly cut hedges & swaying cerise-pink blossoms splay against our exposed skin as we brace ourselves for the sudden heat of afternoon. an insinuation of clouds blur the cerulean blue skies & embrace the mountains far in the distance. i grasp your hand with all the rose-gold tint of sentiment colouring my movements. if someone had asked, i would’ve told them the truth — if i could submerge myself in this moment for the rest of my life, in a deluge of every second spent together, i would.

one day, our recollections of this neighbourhood will fall victim to a hazy softness, like the hasty strokes of a paintbrush over an unprimed canvas. but right now, it’s bright & crisp like the edges of just-poured copper. i’ll remember you in these minutes, illuminated at every angle by the gentle sun caressing your features like a lover’s questing fingers. if you could ever recall the times we were inseparable with even a fraction of this guileless affection, i promise i’ll tend to them like the delicate cashmere gardenias & amethyst irises in your mother’s gardens. the heat of the sidewalk underfoot scorch our shoes but i’d endure it even for you. your fingertips graze the dainty aurelian chain around my neck, mindlessly grasping the evergreen jade pendant brushing the dip between my collarbones. everything might change, but this effortless devotion, this simple adoration, has already immortalized itself in this city’s hidden histories.

the imperial reds & yolk-yellows of chinatown colour the margins of our silhouettes. every inch of this place is crooning with a song from yesterday, a chorus of years bolstering the melody. the brush of your knuckles against my waist, the gentle murmur of your voice in my ear. the new boundaries of our world set by the millennium gates. you guide me through the waves of people, hand in hand, & i wish we could’ve lingered here just a little longer. but we’re enclosed in a sea of green while tying up fortunes & laughing at unsteady feet as we jump mossy stones across a stream. i press a fragment of a wild red strawberry against your lips instead of a kiss & hope you understand the words i can’t say.

stifling summer nights & i’m telling secrets only you’ll ever know. every word whispered into the crevice of your neck as we seek solace on the floors of an air-conditioned room. we sleep in each other’s arms & on unforgiving hardwood, blankets strewn all around like children. you’re smiling at something i don’t know about but you’re cast in gold by the incandescent lights we forgot to turn off & i’m too mesmerized to ask. one day, we’ll have to leave this behind, & i already miss it in my little artless heart. i lie awake & you’re scratching your charcoal pencils against the cream paper of your sketchbook. morning light cradles the downy drapes bordering the windows & i sprawl on the length of your legs before breakfast. a record plays in the background, accompanied by the sizzle of a pan & your wholehearted requests to dance in the kitchen. one day, we’ll tell stories of the days we spent wasting away our golden years together. i promise you, i will never want anything more.

— tuyet an liu | aimi liu

[thatlittlebravegirl]

Staring at the tree for a long time now, I am reminded of the righteousness I had before the scorch of time. I miss who I was. I miss who we all were, before we were this: half-alive to the brightening sky, half-dead already.

— Ada Limón, from “Salvage,” The Hurting Kind

[thatlittlebravegirl]

FREYJA protect whistle-blowers, truth-leakers, justice-workers, and those marginalized everywhere by a frightened, powerful few

LOKI'S torchlight lead the way toward just reversals and breaking oppressive cycles, a Phoenix from the ashes of despair, renewed

THOR defend us with steel and thunder and fierce love of the common people, even against giants

FENRIR show us how to break chains and howl our collective power, when we are bound and tricked

May ODIN'S sight seek out and drag all tyrrany enacted in secret into the light, laying wounds bare so healing can begin.

[thatlittlebravegirl]

“Love? I wanted to go with him, to be on the strong side, for him to spare me, like one who seeks shelter in the arm of the enemy to stay far from his arrows. It was different than love, I was finding out: I wanted him as a thirsty person desires water, without feelings, without even wanting to be happy.”

"I’ve got to tell you / how I love you always / I think of it on grey / mornings with death.”

“Love / isn’t always magic. / Sometimes it’s just melting. / Where it’s black and blue. / Where it hurts the most.”

“Feelings like shrapnel half worked out of the wound.”

“Bitter the love by which I’m beaten.”

“It’s hurts all over. In the soul. In the God-place. / Spleen and rib. Blood and hearth.”

“You can wet the rim of a glass and run your finger around the rim and it will make a sound. This is what I feel like: this sound of glass. I feel like the word shatter.”

“I look at you and it is like drinking cold water. I look at you and it is like my throat being cut.”

“You alone were my fate, / I would have done anything for you.”

“Oh, I often think that I will try to tell you how very dear you are, and how I’m watching for you, but the words won’t come, tho’ the tears will, and I sit down disappointed —”

“If I let him do this to me, what else will I allow? Anything, anything, anything.”

Clarice Lispector, Complete Stories // Frank  O’Hara, from “Morning”// Andrea Gibson, “Maybe I Need You” //  Susan Sontag, I, etcetera //  Euripedes, from Hippolytos (tr. Anne Carson) //  Tara Hardy, from My, My, My, My, My //  Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale // Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless // Anna Akhmatova, from “Prologue” // Emily Dickinson, from Selected Letters // Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless//

[thatlittlebravegirl]

for more original work, follow @madsrambles

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[thatlittlebravegirl]

love’s languages

Porpentine Charity Heartscape, PSYCHO NYMPH EXILE

Tennessee Williams, The Vine

Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments

Andrea Gibson, Maybe I Need You

Jeanette Winterson, The Passion

Celine Sciamma, in an interview with The Independent

Virginia Woolf, The Waves

William Goldman, The Princess Bride

Alain de Botton, On Love

Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited

Andrew Sean Greer, Less

Taylor Swift, illicit affairs

Rob Sheffield, Love Is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time

Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments

Nizar Qabbani, Language

[thatlittlebravegirl]

This is fucked up.

I am fucked up.

I just need to be gone now. I need to sleep.

[thatlittlebravegirl]

eldest daughter syndrome and gifted kid syndrome are some great examples of phrases used to talk about specific kinds of trauma that the internet has taken and turned into "boo hoo these people arent special anymore so theyre lashing out!!" it was never about that you fucking cunts

[thatlittlebravegirl]

[thatlittlebravegirl]

I see I wasn’t running from the war back then. I was running from the peace. The love I did not believe I was worth.

And because that lie held so much grief, I don’t know that I ever got over you as much as I got under

the engine of myself to fix the machine of my love, which now runs okay

but still runs way too much, if you know what I mean, and I know you know what I mean,

because this was not the first lifetime we said goodbye without wanting to say goodbye,

                 was it?

— Andrea Gibson, from “The Museum of Broken Relationships,” You Better Be Lightning

[thatlittlebravegirl]

So damn sleepy.

one of the biggest problems of society nowadays is that i am so so sleepy 

[thatlittlebravegirl]

These two are so pure, ugh

Mood: The way Amos flirts with Avasarala...