“I Love The Handful Of The Earth You Are. Because Of Its Meadows, Vast As A Planet, I Have No Other

Pride 2022 09/30: Chavela Vargas

Singer Chavela Vargas was born in Costa Rica, but left at 17, making Mexico her home. Chavela put a lesbian spin on traditional Mexican music, beginning her career busking and singing in bars, and eventually going on to tour throughout Mexico, North American and Europe.

According to Chavela, in the early 1940s, she met artist Frida Kahlo, and the two soon began a relationship which though short-lived, Chavela remembered fondly. Chavela credited Frida with increasing herself confidence, and helping her to be herself.

Chavela Vargas came out publicly as a lesbian when she was 81, and debuted at Carnegie Hall two years later.

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[Image descriptions: black-and-white photo of a young Chavela holding a guitar; Chavela singing onstage in the later years of her life, with her arms outstretched and wearing a black and red poncho]

Source.

When will you realize that you and I belong together

We may be toxic for one another but living another day with you is painful

The pain eats me away day by day

The moons calls to me at night, reflecting all our memories

The frosty cold night breeze prickles through my skin, reminding me of our romantic walks by the park and how you kissed me breathlessly as if I was your oxygen

Empty Vessel

I’m empty.

I’ve given everything I have in me.

I don’t wait or truly ask for anything in return.

But now I have nothing left for me.

Not a drop has been added to my vessel.

And I’m alone and thirsty.

Desperate for some kind of sign that someone still cares.

I try not to ask for anything in return.

It’s not who I am.

But here I am.

Empty and alone.

If I ask now, I’m desperate.

If I’d asked then, I’ve lost my altruism.

They are content to watch me shrivel and dry up.

Their vessels are filled.

They may have some to spare, but none for me.

I’m not worthy.

I never was.

No amount of myself was ever worth one drop of return from them.

Yet I gave anyway.

I was worried they might one day thirst, they might need extra.

But they move on, filled to the brim.

Forgetting about the empty lonely vessel.

I collect dust.

Maybe even get knocked off the shelf and broken into a million pieces.

Not a piece returns a memory of me.

The one who gave her last drop,

To make him happy.

Inst @rikkekrefting

USS Belleau Wood aflame on her aft flight deck following a Japanese kamikaze attack on 30 October 1944.

via reddit

What I feel for you can’t be conveyed in phrasal combinations; It either screams out loud or stays painfully silent but I promise — it beats words. It beats worlds. I promise.

Katherine Mansfield (via quotemadness)

— an anonymous woman on coming to terms with being a lesbian in the 1950’s-60’s, from an interview with Deborah Goleman Wolf

No poet could be just happy or their soul would waste away in starvation.

They live life with a mixture of pain, pleasure, confusion, ecstasy, love, heartbreak, happiness, sadness. They feel, think, and they weave these all together through the magic of their words.