Let’s be honest here -
I am not the girl men fall in love with.
I am the girl that men want to fuck.
I am a conquest. A prize. A show.
I could count on five hundred fingers
the number of people that have professed,
“I like you. You’re different. You’re an interesting girl.”
Apparently I’m not fascinating enough for you
to want to hold for more than a one night stand.
as I finished swimming a sea of blankets
and got left stranded on the shore,
I asked myself:
What’s wrong with me?
What am I doing?
Am I not good enough for anybody?
And right before I could drown again,
the sun woke up and said,
You are enough.
Forget the men whose hands have groped your hips
in search for answers to questions
you’ve never even heard of.
Do not settle for people who do not appreciate you,
who do not know how lucky they are.
Remember it is a privilege to be loved by you,
or even just
to be touched by you, and
the warmth of another body does not define your worth.
These men -
they think that they can own you
with their drunken stares and roughened arms, but
I have circled the earth
a thousand times
to feed the light flowing inside your skin.
Do not waste it by illuminating those who
can not even be bothered
to learn your last name.”
So that night when
the moon tried once more to pin me down,
I told him:
I am made of sunlight, crashing waves, and fireworks.
You think you can tame me
and cool my flesh?
I am the girl who plays with matches,
and trust me I play it well.
Lord knows I’ve walked through villages leaving
a pile of destruction in my wake.
My heart is a bushfire
and the next time you try to control me,
darling, make no mistake -
I will burst out and ravage you in flames.
(This isn’t a test.)—Sade Andria Zabala (surfandwrite), “For All The Girls With Messy Hearts, And To The Men Whose Skin Have Tasted Mine” (via surfandwrite)
Even tonight and I need to take a walk and clear
my head about this poem about why I can’t
go out without changing my clothes my shoes
my body posture my gender identity my age
my status as a woman alone in the evening/
alone on the streets/alone not being the point/
the point being that I…
if you’re sad just watch these gifs over and over and over and over again
Richard Brody explains why it’s impossible to recreate a film shot by shot: http://nyr.kr/1gfq7YE
“There’s no such thing as a pure angle or composition, any more than there is such a thing as a pure performance; the life of the creators are embodied in all the actions that bring a movie into being. And those habits of body are no mere accidents of upbringing but the very essence of a zeitgeist, of the spirit of the time as it manifests itself.”