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Star Eyes.

The sempiternal comes for us all, loves us as one.

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3:22 AM: I’m hallucinating your fingertips—rough and gentle—against the bones of my hips. And then you cup them slightly, perhaps demanding entry into me? Perhaps making sure the viajante in me lies dormant for now.

3:25 AM: Do you see me in your dreams? I see you too often in the chaotic phantasmagoria of my sleep.

3:27 AM: Sleep with me in the forest; let the earth nestle in my short tresses and care for me when the inevitable illness comes.

We never thought
That we would be—
Never thought ourselves
More deserving of each other.

Even the burning trees
Get put out some day.

Just another sleepless morning where I can count my heartbeats to the sound of helicopters flying above.

"If we’re still conflating harassment with attraction, then the point has not been made clear enough: harassment is about power, not about sex. When making lewd comments to a woman he doesn’t know on the street, a man is not flirting. He’s asserting his dominance. He’s reminding that woman of her “place.” He’s performing a masculinity based on control. This isn’t sexual liberation."

Mychal Denzel Smith, "The intellectual defense of sexual harassment (Hint: there isn’t one)"  (via afrometaphysics)

From this day forward, I will not allow my depression to opress me; I won’t allow the foolish and ignorant words of adults and kids alike to restrict me.

Leave me alone and let me be free. Leave me to be the bohemian/nature girl who belongs amongst the flora and trees, exploring the beaten path and breathing in the smell of the earth.

So what if my style doesn’t align with your close-minded beliefs of what “black” is? What “normal” is? Who the fuck are you? Nobody, that’s who.

Leave me alone and let me be free; you be you and I’ll be me because darling, this is the way life should be!

I’m fucking miserable.

The only salvations I have are my lover, sex, Mount Vernon, nice parks and (sometimes) sleep.

Fucking kill me.