My Dad Had Once Told Me It Would Be Abnormal To Be Normal After All You’d Been Through And I’ve Been

I wish writing stained you the way art does: fingertips gray with charcoal, bright paint splattered against a face, wet clay drying on skin. To be looked at and to be thought of an artist. 

Sometimes I look at these hands and imagine ink dripping down my nails, my palms, my wrists. Onto the floor. Black blood and the type of visual beauty that doesn’t exist yet, and maybe never will.

Happy International Women's Day, ladies!! Hope you have a nice day today <3

What she says: im fine

What she means: the average age of conception over the past 250k years is apparently 26.9. Let's round it down to 25. Think of your birth mother. Hold her hand. Imagine her holding hands with her mother. Within 4 people, you're back in time 100 years, and it's an intimate family dinner. Just after WWI. Add another 16 people, a small party of 20, and you're in the 1500s. Double it, twice, and you're at 80 people. Your family would fill a restaurant, and you're at the height of the Roman empire. At 100 people, Confucius is alive but Socrates has not yet been born. 100 people. That's a medium sized wedding. A small lecture theatre or concert. 200 people, probably the biggest party i could ever hope to host, takes you back 5000 years. The guests at your soirée of parents would be contemporaries of the Egyptian and Indus Valley civilisations, although you'd probably be too busy fixing drinks and nibbles to talk to all of them. Just imagine it. 200 of you. That's all it takes to get back 5,000 years. And we could go further. 1000 people, a decent sized concert, a large high school, and we're at the end of the last ice age. Your ancestors are comparing their pink floyd vinyl with music played on instruments carved from wood or bones of long vanished species. Wander through the crowd. See your own features and phrases and gestures refract out like a kaleidoscope. What would they make of you? What do you make of them? Why does it feel so unfair that even that first 100 years --that small family dinner of four--is out of your grasp? Maybe it's because questions of spatial distance have become negligible to us now. why, oh why, does time hold out against us so stubbornly

vampire who’s married to an archaeologist voice: my love, stop trying to carbon date me

I don’t need to manifest my dream life because I already have it.

Erika L. Sánchez, from Lessons on Expulsion: Poems; “Amá”

[Text ID: “In One Hundred Years of Solitude, / Márquez wrote that we are birthed / by our mothers only once, but life obligates / us to give birth / to ourselves over and over.”]

when you feel so lonely that when a guy gives you attention (and you already know its nothing serious) you still talk to him . And feel hollow. Talk and feel hollow. Talk and feel hollow.

Life finds a way, even in the cracks of concrete.

Sandra Cisneros