lord, help me to create something beautiful


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our pistil soul-bright,
our stamen heaven-waste,
our corona red
from the purpleword we sang
over, O over
the thorn."

Paul Celan, from “Psalm”, trans. John Felstiner (via the-final-sentence)

one of my coolest and strongest friends said “i secretly like all the stuff [outspoken friend] posts…i’m a closeted feminist” and i said “closeted?? why closeted?” and she didn’t answer dang what is going on 


‎later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?

it answered


Warsan Shire (via naturalinfiniteyes)