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ecc-poetry:

Perfeccion, by Elisa Chavez.

Una mujer construyó una casitadonde no había sido nada.Todo era sin lujo, pero hermoso:Ella plantó un árbol de pera, y siempre
dejaba la puerta abierta para sus
queridos. Tenía ventanas altas para que
brillaba el sol. El techo se filtrabadespues de una tormenta,y ella estaba arreglándolo.

El hombre nunca no había puestoun ladrillo, pero cuando vio la casa,
exclamó, “¡Ésta no sirve! Las ventanas
son desiguales! Las lámparas son
demasiadas tenues. Necesitamos quequemar esta casa y empezar otra vez.”

La mujer miró alrededor y sabía queél tenía razon, este hombre quenunca no había construido nada:mucho aquí no era perfecto.
Ella le dijo, “Muy bien, señor.¿Pero dónde viviré mañana?”

A man saw that a ladyhad built a house on virgin land.It was a mess: front door off its hinges,a tree’s rotten fruit scatteredacross the yard. The ventilationwas very poor, anyone would admit,and the holes she had put in the roofleaked filthy water in torrents on the floor.Why wouldn’t she fix it?

The man hated to think of herlanguishing in the house, and exclaimed,
“This establishment won’t do, my dear! We deserve palaces, we deserve a worldin the clouds. We have to burn this place
down and start dreaming again.”

The little lady looked around and knewthat he was right: the house she’d builtwasn’t much. Just a small thingmore trouble than it was worth.

She told him, “I wish I could.But I don’t have the imagination.”

I used an online translator to get the direct translation (I don’t speak Spanish), and ouch. I love this series. 

“ A woman built a small house where there was nothing. It was no luxury, but beautiful: She planted a pear tree, and always left the door open for her loved ones. It had high windows so the sun shone in. The roof leaked after a storm, and she was fixing it.
The man had never lain even a brick, but when he saw the house, he exclaimed, “This won’t do! The windows are uneven! The lights are too dim. We need to burn this house and start again.”
The woman looked around and knew that he was right, this man who had never built anything: much here was not perfect.
She said, “Very well, Sir. But where will I live tomorrow?”
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ecc-poetry:

“Miedos,” by Elisa Chavez.

This poem was written as part of “Miss Translated,” a chapbook I produced as part of an artistic residency for Town Hall Seattle. (I don’t have any left I’m sorry.) As with La sirena y el pescador, this poem features intentional mistranslation between Spanish and English.

What I think of when I read over this poem is the times my mother has told me her voice sounds different in Spanish. Not better, or worse. Different.

gorgeous. 
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“wolves and girls, girls and wolves
oh, so the stories go
what all these poets dare not say
is that every girl has wolves
pacing rhythms in her heart”
- hear me howl | m.j. (via blakesgriffins)
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You think you’ve seen her naked because she took her clothes off?
You’ve kissed her lips, and you’ve climbed inside her. Somehow you think that’s enough to know and love someone.

Tell me about her nightmares? The ones that have her twitching next to you as you snore on, oblivious.

Look down at your unblemished hands and tell me how many times you’ve cut yourself on the pieces of her broken heart.

Tell me why she paints,
Why she writes,
Why she takes long baths.

Tell me about her life, her childhood.
Tell me about the first man who broke her heart.
Tell me about her father and her brother.
Tell me about her demons, and her fears.
Tell me about her insecurities and the conversations she has with herself.

Tell me about everything she wants from life.
Tell me all the tiny little things she’s wished upon a star for.
Tell me why her favorite city is her favorite city.
Tell me why she flinches, ever so slightly, when you call her beautiful.

Tell me all the little things you hate about her, and I’ll tell you why I love them.
Tell me about her darkness, and I’ll tell you about her light.
No my friend, you may have seen her body, but you have still yet to see her naked.


- whatifgodisacat, Naked  (via wnq-writers)
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ardatli:

razzledazzlewaffle:

Dominique Christina - “The Period Poem”

Mother Dominique Cristina responds to a tweet her daughter sent her about a guy breaking up with his girlfriend because her period started while they had sex. (x)

Watch the whole thing.
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ardatli:

razzledazzlewaffle:

Dominique Christina - “The Period Poem”

Mother Dominique Cristina responds to a tweet her daughter sent her about a guy breaking up with his girlfriend because her period started while they had sex. (x)

Watch the whole thing.
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jewishdragon:

Some trans history for trans day of visibility! Here is a poem written in 1322 by a jewish trans woman! (source and alternate translation). In case you were in need of the knowledge that yes, trans people have been around for a long, long time. [this is an english translation from hebrew]

“What an awful fate for my mother
that she bore a son.
What a loss of all benefit! …
Cursed be the one who announced to my father:
“It’s a boy! …

Woe to him who has male sons.
Upon them a heavy yoke has been placed, restrictions and constraints.
Some in private, some in public,
some to avoid the mere appearance of violation,
and some entering the most secret of places.

Strong statutes and awesome commandments,
six hundred and thirteen.
Who is the man who can do all that is written,
so that he might be spared?

… Oh, but had the artisan who made me
created me instead—a fair woman.
Today I would be wise and insightful.
We would weave, my friends and I,
and in the moonlight spin our yarn,
and tell our stories to one another,
from dusk till midnight.
We’d tell of the events of our day, silly things,
matters of no consequence.
But also I would grow very wise from the spinning,
and I would say, “Happy is she who knows how to work with combed flax and weave it into fine white linen.”

And at times, in the way of women,
I would lie down on the kitchen floor,
between the ovens, turn the coals, and taste the different dishes.
On holidays I would put on my best jewelry.
I would beat on the drum
and my clapping hands would ring.

And when I was ready and the time was right,
an excellent youth would be my fortune.
He would love me, place me on a pedestal,
dress me in jewels of gold,
earrings, bracelets, necklaces.
And on the appointed day,
in the season of joy when brides are wed,
for seven days would the boy increase my delight and gladness.

Were I hungry, he would feed me well-kneaded bread.
Were I thirsty, he would quench me with light and dark wine.
He would not chastise nor harshly treat me,
and my [sexual] pleasure he would not diminish

Every Sabbath, and each new moon,
his head he would rest upon my breast.
The three husbandly duties he would fulfill,
rations, raiment, and regular intimacy.
And three wifely duties would I also fulfill,
[watching for menstrual] blood, [Sabbath candle] lights, and bread…

Father in heaven, who did miracles for our ancestors with fire and water,
You changed the fire of Chaldees so it would not burn hot,
You changed Dina in the womb of her mother to a girl,
You changed the staff to a snake before a million eyes,
You changed [Moses’] hand to [leprous] white
and the sea to dry land.
In the desert you turned rock to water,
hard flint to a fountain.

Who would then turn me from a man to woman?
Were I only to have merited this, being so graced by your goodness…

What shall I say? Why cry or be bitter?
If my Father in heaven has decreed upon me
and has maimed me with an immutable deformity,
then I do not wish to remove it.
And the sorrow of the impossible
is a human pain that nothing will cure
and for which no comfort can be found.
So, I will bear and suffer
until I die and wither in the ground.
And since I have learned from the tradition
that we bless both the good and the bitter,
I will bless in a voice, hushed and weak,
Blessed are you, O Lord,
who has not made me a woman.
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whospilledthebongwater:

rogerdabbit:

15-and-sad:

aprilynnepike:

Shel Silverstein wanted to say something very wise. So he wrote a children’s book.

I couldn’t fully appreciate these as a kid. I’m so glad to see these. Shel Silverstein was so magnificent.

My entire childhood.

Yassssssss I’ve loved these since I was little

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