Apr 20 2014
117 notes

Quote

Mother says home is always is heavy on my heart
But only because I stubbornly choose
to carry it on my own.
I show her how I carried Gogo’s joy, light
like pollen on bee legs.
How her smiles made my heart glow
and I danced for her.
What more is yearning to a back
that learned to saddle expectations born out of misogyny?
I came with a head worthy of a crown that
passed over her, her and her, and her….
Reasons why I keep prayers
in the seams of my soul for daughters
And a crown for each in my eyes and mouth
But umkulu kulu said we will see God’s wisdom actualize.
So I tell mama not to worry,
Though my heart is a wildflower
I was taught how to harbour a caterpillars patience…
butterflies - Tapiwa Mugabe

(Source: tapiwamugabe, via nayyirahwaheed)


Apr 20 2014

Apr 20 2014
218 notes

Apr 20 2014
147 notes

Quote

I fell in love with wearing black
as if I was mourning
Did away with the need to make my dressing a metaphor
Has my skin not been turned into a symbol for solidarity?
(already)….(enough)
This skin black oil
My inherited legacy
Mother tattooed me from head to feet with assegai’s and pyramids
Before i discovered the engenuity of weaver bird nests in my mouth
My heart was as hard as guava seed
Discovered and lost god in whisky bottles
Budding iconoclast with a heart full of leniency
A Uhuru child
Stone house son
My war of reformation
A rebirthing of my ancestors in my mind

stone house son - Tapiwa Mugabe

(Source: tapiwamugabe, via tapiwamugabe)


Apr 20 2014
991 notes

Apr 20 2014
8,982 notes

Quote

I am not good. I am not virtuous. I am not sympathetic. I am not generous. I am merely and above all a creature of intense passionate feeling. I feel—everything. It is my genius. It burns me like fire.
Mary MacLane,I Await the Devil’s Coming  (via thatkindofwoman)

(Source: larmoyante, via thatkindofwoman)


Apr 20 2014
139 notes

Photo

(Source: wordsbrand, via alexandraelle)


Apr 20 2014
508 notes

Photo

(Source: urbnite, via alexandraelle)


Apr 20 2014
17,918 notes

Quote

She is not “my girl.”

She belongs to herself, and to all of the world. And I am blessed, for with all her freedom, she still comes back to me, moment-to-moment, day-by-day, and night-by-night.

How much more blessed can I be?

Avraham Chaim, Thoughts after The Alchemist (via shayeofodile)

(Source: avraham-chai, via alexandraelle)


Apr 20 2014
3,984 notes

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