Smellen Likes Things

They call me Smellen. I like things.

And I cried. For myself. For this woman talkin’ about love. For all the women who have ever stretched their bodies out anticipating civilization and finding ruins.

—Sonia Sanchez (Homegirls and Handgrenades)

(Source: likethebrimofahat, via mangoestho)

buttonpoetry:

Ariana Brown & Arati Warrier - “Invisible” (CUPSI 2014)

"Before I know who is worthy, I have already opened my mouth for them."

A beautiful group piece from UT Austin, champions of this year’s College Unions Poetry Slam Invitational.

disheartens:

I hope you fall in love with a man with good music taste and a jawline stronger than your wifi connection

may nothing ever be stronger than my wifi connection

(via rinaroo-rooster)

cmdphotography:

I gotta get the hell outta Richmond and see some new sights soon.

feelin this a lot today

He folded his fear into a perfect rose. He held it out in the palm of his hand. She took it from him and put it in her hair.

—Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things (via blairwitchwaldorf)

(Source: rabbrakha, via odetopeaches)

The writer’s only responsibility is to his art. He will be completely ruthless if he is a good one. He has a dream. It anguishes him so much he must get rid of it. He has no peace until then. Everything goes by the board: honor, pride, decency, security, happiness, all, to get the book written. If a writer has to rob his mother, he will not hesitate; the ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn’ is worth any number of old ladies.

William Faulkner (via observando)

This is fucking stupid.