"You are enough, untouchable, infinite."
- Lauren Zuniga’s advice to me (via embesea)
"I’ve waited my whole life
to have a locker next to yours.
I thank God for everyone you kissed before me.
How they twisted the dial a few notches to the right,
full circle to the left, back and forth,
until you landed on my mouth."
- Lauren Zuniga poem (that i actually like very very much - even if its cheesy). (via semiromanticanarchist)
"I want to forget about stars.
About things that fly.
And God.
I want to find magnitude in a molehill,
hard work on an ant’s back,
bad choice in an empty bottle,
forgiveness in a person’s car wreck.
I want to see color the same way a blind man must feel it."
- Lacey Roop, excerpt from “The Gravity of Stars” (via pigmenting)

(via pigmenting)

"I want to tell pilots to try swimming.
That the sky is way too beautiful for us to be in it.
We need to come down from our high-horse.
Tomorrow I’m going to travel Austin, TX by crawling on my knees
in hopes that when I stand back up I’ll see things differently.
I’m done dreaming of astronauts.
The moon is a made-up romantic.
Put me in the pavement.
Lie my carcass in the cracks.
Let me be humbled by the power of speaking by the silent dance
of a deaf man’s hands.
I want to watch closely the lips of a mute
who wishes for nothing other than to hear the sound of his voice.
Visit a hospital and hold the hand of a woman in a coma dreaming
about moving again.
For the sky has nothing in it as interesting as the diversity on this earth.
That is why I don’t care anymore about flying.
There is a reason the stars keep falling.
They are jealous of the things we get to see
by just being here—
- Lacey Roop, excerpt from “Gravity of Stars” (via pigmenting)

What if
all women were bigger and stronger than you
and thought they were smarter

What if
women were the ones who started wars

What if
too many of your friends had been raped by women wielding giant dildos
and no K-Y Jelly

What if
the state trooper
who pulled you over on the New Jersey Turnpike
was a woman
and carried a gun

What if
the ability to menstruate
was the prerequisite for most high-paying jobs

What if
your attractiveness to women depended
on the size of your penis

What if
every time women saw you
they’d hoot and make jerking motions with their hands

What if
women were always making jokes
about how ugly penises are
and how bad sperm tastes

What if
you had to explain what’s wrong with your car
to big sweaty women with greasy hands
who stared at your crotch
in a garage where you are surrounded
by posters of naked men with hard-ons

What if
men’s magazines featured cover photos
of 14-year-old boys
with socks
tucked into the front of their jeans
and articles like:
“How to tell if your wife is unfaithful”
“What your doctor won’t tell you about your prostate”
“The truth about impotence”

What if
the doctor who examined your prostate
was a woman
and called you “Honey”

What if
you had to inhale your boss’s stale cigar breath
as she insisted that sleeping with her
was part of the job

What if
you couldn’t get away because
the company dress code required
you wear shoes
designed to keep you from running

And what if
after all that
women still wanted you
to love them.


For the Men Who Still Don’t Get It, written 20 years ago by Carol Diehl. 

She wrote a post about the history of this poem that is worth reading.

(via waxenneat)

(via overcomingtheodds)