Love is for Learners

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“Simply Together” by Alina Malykhina

First, you love someone,
then you learn how to.

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Freely Bound: Heroin Today, Slave Tomorrow

Ginnny

Painted by Ginny Thonson

💉💊🚬
It’s My Death’s Life:
Freedom made love to me
and it was surprisingly good,
even better than I had imagined,
so I did it again.

Again and again,
till my breasts and arms
and hips and thighs were sore.
Again and again,
I didn’t care ’cause I wanted more.
Again and again, and again,
three shots stopped being enough,
so I made it four.
Again and again and again, and again,
“I can’t do without this feeling;
it mustn’t walk out my door.”

We did it till I became paralyzed;
my thighs and trunk were stuck.
I was in complete and constant pain
from all the fruitless fuck.

Freedom didn’t untie me from the bed,
and it didn’t listen to a thing I said.
Freedom didn’t let me go;
temporary tallness didn’t let me grow.

Freedom is the strongest wind,
and no one can catch up with it.
When you think you have,
look again,
because it sheds its skin at that point,
and quickly becomes death. 

Everyone wants to own freedom
but she doesn’t want to be owned.
Freedom likes to own
just as much as she likes to disown;
she makes you a king today,
and tomorrow, gets you dethroned.

In freedom, in complete “freedom”,
“dom”(ination) comes right after “free”.

The African Woman’s Dilemma

25555648_1538370519611644_756203203_n1. “You shouldn’t restrict a man’s sense of freedom; you have to let him explore if he chooses to. You can’t be possessive of men; they are not built that way.”

 

2. “He has been seen in hotels several times with different women. It’s such a shame that his wife can’t keep a man.” 

Aládékojú

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The Art of Stephen Hamilton

Protect me from life’s vanities;
guard my soul against its insecurities.
Whenever my heart goes weary and weak,
Mother, protect me from myself.

Against depression and its similarities,
in my spirit, build immunities.
Make me make a world a better place,
and breastfeed me yourself.

The Wounded Healer

Her words are deep, and perhaps, far too deep, because they do not come from her heart. She writes and speaks with passion only because her words come from the pitch of her stomach. As these words travel up her torso, they avoid her heart like a plague.

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“Yemoja” [Artist Unknown]

Her heart is severely wounded, so she strives to protect her words from blood stains. She chooses not to release the words that live in her heart because they are filled with pain.

She is hurt
and she is weak
and she is dying slowly,
but it’s not for her listeners who need healing to see…

Can You?

If you think you can,
you can.
If you think you can’t,
you’re right.

The Society’s Guide to Being a Man, 101.

The only way to be a man
is to not be human.
Don’t cry;
be sad, but don’t say why.
Don’t feel;
hurting someone is the best way to heal.
Don’t express yourself when you do feel,
and if you must,
do it with clenched fists.

The only way to be seen as strong
is to insist that you’re never wrong,
and if a woman isn’t under
your absolute control,
you can’t be a man on your own-
you can’t possibly be whole.

Woman, One Word

No lips are lovely enough for my lips.
No words or verses are good enough
to make me feel like a woman.
No car or house is expensive enough
to fit my ego, and my dreams.
No food and promises are audible or
legible enough for my vagina and squirt.
No man is big enough for my arms;
no man is worthy enough of my love.
No hands are good enough for
my stunning breasts and thighs;
no amount of your money
is large enough for my hands.

I don’t need a man to be happy.
No man in the world.

I don’t need to be chained
by a man to be free.
No man in the world.

To be successful, I don’t need to
suck on smelly man-candy.
No man in the world.

No man is big enough for arms.
No man in the world.
No man in the world.

The Real Star

We
all
know
that
the
real
star
among
the
lot
is
the
moon

Why don’t you be yourself?
Why don’t you be, yourself?

Defective Heart

I was born with a broken heart,
and no one can care for me
or love me enough.
If they don’t care for me
or love me for a day,
I’ll go back to being paranoid and hurt,
and I’ll be much worse than I was
before they came into my life.

No light is bright enough for my darkness;
nobody’s trust can make me totally fearless.
No love is compatible enough with my heart;
no brush is good enough for my art.
No air is fresh enough for my lungs;
no drums are good enough for my songs.

I must learn.
I must learn how to love myself.
No one’ll ever love me more
than myself.
No one’ll ever love my self more
than me.