when you’re a lesbian out of LA in love
with a girl out of Brooklyn
Connecticut’s your Vegas.
and there’s no Elvis here, no
altars set up just across the border
for those escaping neighboring states
with their hearts
in their gloveboxes.
just a court house in a small town
in a state with some paper that says
any two adult humans in love
have earned its protection
and should have the law on their side
at least in this. so you call
your best friend in Chicago, say
there’s a ticket at the airport
with your name on it. get your girl
out of bed, say shake the sugar
from your eyes, we’re getting married
next Saturday. we’re headed
to Connecticut in an economy car
with four good wheels,
we’ll leave the motorcycle behind
so they don’t stop us at the border
for throwing off our helmets
and trying to eat the sun. we deserve
as much crazy as the couple
at the truck stop screaming over
the baby and driving away. I hope
their wedding day had bells. had a song
nobody had ever heard cousin Marcie sing
so well, that it made them cry. that days
like these when the road’s just rock
pounded flat and the baby’s been hollering
for miles, that song comes on the radio.
and it isn’t Marcie singing, she’s back in Hartford
with the kids, you know they’ve got the flu
again, and the song has this one part that says
wise men say, only fools rush in – it’s Elvis
and Elvis always makes her smile, even the baby’s
gotten quiet and maybe they don’t know
or can’t be bothered to care that their state
small as it is, so small the name doesn’t fit
on the map but floats out in the Atlantic
like a geographic afterthought, their state
got it right on this, got it so human
that lesbians are crossing the border looking
for a town with a name like Suffield
or Weatogue or East Berlin because it sounds
like a club and there’s a court house open
on Saturday mornings and they’ve got to be back
in Brooklyn by nightfall and they don’t need
Elvis or a preacher or even this piece of paper
but they’re going for it all the same
because sometimes love grabs you that
crazy hard, gets you to hold her
in arms you did not know you had,
sometimes you roll over
in the morning and you never
want to leave, you say take
my hand, take my whole life too,
for I can’t help falling in love with you.
I can’t help falling in love, with you.
— Marty McConnell, Ten of Cups
Long ago, I was wounded. I lived
to revenge myself
against my father, not
for what he was—
for what I was: from the beginning of time,
in childhood, I thought
that pain meant
I was not loved.
It meant I loved.
(via rememo)
#love #brooklynbotanicalgardens we saw this last visit… (Taken with instagram)
“We let Willow cut her hair. When you have a little girl, it’s like how can you teach her that you’re in control of her body? If I teach her that I’m in charge of whether or not she can touch her hair, she’s going to replace me with some other man when she goes out in the world. She can’t cut my hair but that’s her hair. She has got to have command of her body. So when she goes out into the world, she’s going out with a command that it is hers. She is used to making those decisions herself. We try to keep giving them those decisions until they can hold the full weight of their lives.” —
Will Smith On Allowing Willow To Cut Her Hair: ‘She Has Got To Have Command Of Her Body’ | Necole Bitchie.com (via rememo)
oh okay will smith. okay.
(Source: larepublicadedet, via rememo)
“I watched a dandelion lose its mind in the wind
and when it did, it scattered a thousand seeds,
So the next time I tell you
how easily I come out of my skin,
don’t try to put me back in,
Just say, here we are, together at the window
aching for it to all get better
but knowing as bad as it hurts,
our hearts may have only just skinned their knees,
knowing there is a chance
the worst day might still be coming,
Let me say, right now for the record,
I’m still gonna be here,
asking this world to dance
even if it keeps stepping on my holy feet…”
— Andrea Gibson (via feministpizza)
(Source: reverbelation, via fuckyeahandreagibson)
sometimes i can’t talk myself down from here. sometimes i keep dragging myself up the concrete steps until i get up on that ledge, blood and tears.
i stand out on the edge and i don’t know how to get off. i don’t know how to come down. and i don’t know if i’m ever going to ever hit the days where i don’t wake up every so often just to crack the mirror and throw myself over that dark line.
its the fear that pulls me up and over the side. the fear that drags me on my hands and knees up to the edge when it hits. i never expect the left hook to the face that reminds me: everything i have faith in might be a fantasy. all the things that i hold in trust could shift to salt and pour off my hands to ruin the earth. and that maybe the world just hides your latest, greatest heartbreak behind its back until the last and worst possible moment.
i want to come down. i want to get off.
dear god help me come down.
dear god hold my hand.
dear god promise me this stops.
most of the time i forget where the ledge even is. and then comes the hour i’m up here, terrified that i’ll never stop climbing up, or worse, that i’ll never get down again.
“I’ll peel off the clothes
and decorate the floorboards
with all that you wore.”
— Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson (via tylerknott)
(via tylerknott)
(Source: conflictingheart)
dear great gatsby trailer:
you are not what i expected.
-b
[video]
Yesterday evening Tara and I were riding the G train home from the park and a visibly intoxicated man got onto the car and asked us if we were “Irish or Scottish.” at first I thought he was asking about our heritage, but after looking at the bottle he was holding and the way he was sloshing around I think he may have thought we were talking with accents that is how many sheets to the wind he was. So normally when a drunk man talks to me on the subway I am mean as hell so he’ll leave me alone but maybe because Tara doesn’t live in NYC she hasn’t been hardened yet? So she kept engaging him and I am so glad she did because of where this conversation went.
She told him she was visiting from Boston and that is when he said, “Oh yeah, I’ve played at Fenway a few times.” And I scoffed and rolled my eyes because BUDDY you are wearing chef pants on the G train and you’re fat and don’t even try to hint to me that you’re a former major league baseball player. I asked him if he was a Yankee fan or something since he had a negative reaction to Tara being in town from Boston and he said, “Why, do you recognize me?” And I was all “Come on! What’s your name then?” So he told us his name was Chuck but he would not give us his last name. He also overheard us talking about our upcoming trip to Minnesota and then he told us he used to live there. At this point we were just kind of egging him on so I asked him if he has ever played professional baseball and he said he couldn’t answer that but that he was recently divorced from his wife and “Are you sisters? Want to come uptown with me? I’ll just have to change first.”
When we got off the train Tara decided to google “baseball minnesota chuck yankee” and I was all, “Can you believe that guy? He tried to hint to us that he was a former major league baseball player!” And that is when this came up on Google:
It was Chuck Knoblauch. We were being hit on by Chuck Knoblauch on the G train.
i’m obsessed with the downfall of chuck knoblauch so this is extremely relevant to my interests. always knew chuck was headed for disaster when he readjusted his gloves 19,372 every time he was at bat. oh chuck. wwsbs? (what would scot brosius say)
“
Don’t be afraid. The future is not disguised
as sleep. It is a tango. It is a waterfall between
two countries, the river that tried to drown you.
It is a city where men speak a language
you can fake if you must.
” — Traci Brimhall, from “Through a Glass Darkly” (via proustitute)(via contempler)
“Take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.” — Elie Wiesel (via spiritd3sire)
(Source: officialteamgreen, via contempler)
