Apr 20 2014
152 notes


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?
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
1,394 notes

Apr 20 2014
10,251 notes


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
190 notes


(Source: wordsbrand, via alexandraelle)

Apr 20 2014
681 notes


(Source: urbnite, via alexandraelle)

Apr 20 2014
49,796 notes


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
3,991 notes

Apr 20 2014
1,083 notes


Be melting snow.
Wash yourself of yourself.
Rumi  (via thatkindofwoman)

(Source: misswallflower, via thatkindofwoman)

Apr 20 2014

Apr 20 2014
26,420 notes


(Source: thelotustemple, via tionam)

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