drag me though the streets at dawn
Celebration small enough to have a good time and with enough to share with the dead. Come celebrate (los dias) dia de los muertos with me on november 2nd (the night of) for a picnic in the graveyard. The Aztecs had the right idea. We will one day awaken from this dream.
I am a butterfly, and I am not for you to touch.
Look at me and tell me I'm a woman
I'm not a doll of sorts
I'm not an idea for you to toy with in your head.
I am an amazon warrior
I come from generations of fighters.
so when did I lose my fire and start becoming silenced?
Maybe I should have continued taking wmst's classes. I stopped because I found them to be common sense. I'm thinking about starting again because Voltaire was right. I am a feminist. I am a hippy. I am a student. I am a lover, giver, and taker. I am a woman.
The rage buried deep below these eyes is blocked by the door of ignorance. If you know me, you see the words behind it all. If you know me, you know that the written or spoken is not what matters most.
Moving on.
Moving up.
Looking forward to Los dias de los muertos. Come join me while we party with the dead... because life is only dreaming, and the awakening comes with transformation.
VIEW 9 of 9 COMMENTS
something just occurred to me. last night while at happy hour(s) with some friends, someone started telling a story about someone named marla. i consistently kept referring to her as marlowe. this happened like 4 or 5 times, even after the storyteller said, "marlA" with a stress on the A sound and things like "with a fucking A, not an O".
maybe you were in my subconscious, marlowe, and that's why i couldn't, for the life of me, get marla's fucking name right. that's the only plausible explanation, right?