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we’re safe now

ask,

guooey: ““Natalie Diaz ” ”

guooey:

Natalie Diaz

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sproutlett:

i am a different person than who i was last year. my hair is longer and i cry less and i am stronger. i am a different person than who i was six months ago. i am free and different and am embracing change. i am a different person than who i was a month ago. i sit in the sunlight without worry and i don’t let things stick and i look up and smile. i am a different person than who i was last week. i explore more and look at the sky and laugh more. i am a different person than who i was yesterday. i let go and breathe. i am whole.

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honeygrl:

The sun will always rise 

ig: annahndrcksn

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nevver:

Stray light, Clarissa M Bonet

(Source: instagram.com)

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blondebrainpower:

“From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them, and that is eternity.”

— Edvard Munch

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gorabaa: “A handwritten note, scrawled in Arabic on a torn cigarette pack, was discovered on the ground last week in Pozzallo as migrants filed off a ship. It was from someone initialed “A” to someone else initialed “R.” “I wanted to be with you,”...

gorabaa:

A handwritten note, scrawled in Arabic on a torn cigarette pack, was discovered on the ground last week in Pozzallo as migrants filed off a ship. It was from someone initialed “A” to someone else initialed “R.”

“I wanted to be with you,” read the note. “Don’t you dare forget me. I love you very much. My wish is for you not to forget me. Be well my love. A loves R. I love you.”

كلمات عربية مكتوبة بخط اليد على غلاف علبة سجائر ممزقة عُثر عليها بعد إنقاذ مركب لمهاجريين غير شرعيين لإيطاليا من أ لـ ر

The New York Times | T.B : Lynsey Addario 

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franzkafkagf:

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not all of it is bad i think….…. we are going to be okay i think.

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the-sappho-of-lesbos:

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Source: Out In America; A Portrait Of Gay and Lesbian Life , by Michael Goff and the staff of OUT magazine

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soracities:

So, yes. I praise fingers. I praise hands. I praise this poem. I praise all that reminds me that we are more than whatever is manicured, whatever is glossed over, whatever is made to seem perfect. That we are sometimes a face trying not to cry while our hands cry for us. That we are sometimes holding on so tight to the person we love with just a couple fingers wrapped around the other. That we are scared and grieving just as we are full of love or even on the precipice of joy. That, while we live in the midst of loss, we live too in the midst of birds. That one of us can point to them, and that we can share in them together.ALT

Devin Kelly, from Ordinary Plots: “J. Estanislao Lopez’s ‘What the Fingers Do’” [transcript in ALT]

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