“Our wounds are often the openings into
the best and most beautiful part of us.”
Saturday, December 14, 2013
Maybe pretending is how you get brave, I don’t know.”
"I used to be scared of Jon, whenever I had to fight him. He was so quick, and he fought like he meant to kill me… I never said, though. Sometimes I think everyone is just pretending to be brave, and none of us really are. Maybe pretending is how you get brave, I don’t know.”
— Mohja Kahf: The Marvelous Women (E-mails From Scheherazad)
“All women speak two languages:
the language of men
and the language of silent suffering.
Some women speak a third,
the language of queens.
They are marvelous
and they are my friends.
My friends give me poetry.
If it were not for them
I’d be a seamstress out of work.
They send me their dresses
and I sew together poems,
enormous sails for ocean journeys.
My marvelous friends, these women
who are elegant and fix engines,
who teach gynecology and literacy,
and work in jails and sing and sculpt
and paint the ninety-nine names,
who keep each other’s secrets
and pass on each other’s spirits
like small packets of leavening,
it is from you I fashion poetry.
I scoop up, in handfuls, glittering
sequins that fall from your bodies
as you fall in love, marry, divorce,
get custody, get cats, enter
supreme courts of justice,
argue with God.
You rescuers on galloping steeds
of the weak and the wounded–
Creatures of beauty and passion,
powerful workers in love–
you are the poems.
I am only your stenographer.
I am the hungry transcriber
of the conjuring recipes you hoard
in the chests of your great-grandmothers.
My marvelous friends–the women
of brilliance in my life,
who levitate my daughters,
you are a coat of many colors
in silk tie-dye so gossamer
it can be crumpled in one hand.
You houris, you mermaids, swimmers
in dangerous waters, defiers of sharks–
My marvelous friends,
thirsty Hagars and laughing Sarahs,
you eloquent radio Aishas,
Marys drinking the secret
milkshakes of heaven,
slinky Zuleikas of desire,
gay Walladas, Harriets
parting the sea, Esthers in the palace,
Penelopes of patient scheming,
you are the last hope of the shrinking women.
You are the last hand to the fallen knights
You are the only epics left in the world
Come with me, come with poetry
Jump on this wild chariot, hurry–”
the language of men
and the language of silent suffering.
Some women speak a third,
the language of queens.
They are marvelous
and they are my friends.
My friends give me poetry.
If it were not for them
I’d be a seamstress out of work.
They send me their dresses
and I sew together poems,
enormous sails for ocean journeys.
My marvelous friends, these women
who are elegant and fix engines,
who teach gynecology and literacy,
and work in jails and sing and sculpt
and paint the ninety-nine names,
who keep each other’s secrets
and pass on each other’s spirits
like small packets of leavening,
it is from you I fashion poetry.
I scoop up, in handfuls, glittering
sequins that fall from your bodies
as you fall in love, marry, divorce,
get custody, get cats, enter
supreme courts of justice,
argue with God.
You rescuers on galloping steeds
of the weak and the wounded–
Creatures of beauty and passion,
powerful workers in love–
you are the poems.
I am only your stenographer.
I am the hungry transcriber
of the conjuring recipes you hoard
in the chests of your great-grandmothers.
My marvelous friends–the women
of brilliance in my life,
who levitate my daughters,
you are a coat of many colors
in silk tie-dye so gossamer
it can be crumpled in one hand.
You houris, you mermaids, swimmers
in dangerous waters, defiers of sharks–
My marvelous friends,
thirsty Hagars and laughing Sarahs,
you eloquent radio Aishas,
Marys drinking the secret
milkshakes of heaven,
slinky Zuleikas of desire,
gay Walladas, Harriets
parting the sea, Esthers in the palace,
Penelopes of patient scheming,
you are the last hope of the shrinking women.
You are the last hand to the fallen knights
You are the only epics left in the world
Come with me, come with poetry
Jump on this wild chariot, hurry–”
Fix You.
*and that’s why you don’t go around fixing people
**and that’s why you don’t give up pieces of yourself to make someone else whole
***We do this more than we think. Sometimes we reject those who have helped us the most. Other times, we help those who allow their egos to hide their humilities.
****someONE FUCKING MAKE THAT TEDDY BEAR HAPPY BEFORE I CHOKE BECAUSE I HAVE TEARS BRIMMING MY EYES HELP ME
it may take time but there is someone waiting to hold your hand
My tears
THE TERRORIST HIJABI EXPERIMENT!
I just wanna let you know that you’re the first person to do any of this and it means volumes to the people who do wear the Hijab, and people like me who knows my mother wears a Hijab and there’s people who are actually gonna defend her when something like this happens.
[Girl:] I think it’s completely ridiculous that no one stopped.
Are you even Muslim?
[Girl:] No.
But you know what a Hijab is and you choose to defend her for it.
[Girl:] Yeah.
And you are the reason we’re gonna start changing as a people and you’re the reason like, you’re the hope, you’re the spark of hope - you’re the Katniss in this. Seriously she’s Katniss Everdeen everybody! Power to the people!
The Terrorist Hijabi Experiment - Youtube
— Criss Jami
“With too much pride a man cannot learn a thing.
In and of itself, learning teaches you how foolish you are.”
— Lang Leav
“It was a question I had worn on my lips for days - like a loose thread on my favourite sweater I couldn’t resist pulling - despite knowing it could all unravel around me.
"Do you love me?" I ask.
In your hesitation I found my answer.”
"Do you love me?" I ask.
In your hesitation I found my answer.”
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