Last night I painted a purple tree on my bedroom wall I woke up this morning in a pile of leaves The color of a million different faces Thinking of that hand That planted the seed Of the family tree That grew us all And how each one of us Will one day fall back to the ground
This morning I was listening to my heart pound Knowing with every single beat That a thousand other hearts Were falling asleep forever On a day they never thought they would And I know there are tribes of aborigines That decide how and when they’ll die After a hundred years or so They walk into the desert alone Offer up their breath And within two minutes Soar into a death As beautiful as their life And I was thinking I Will probably never be enlightened enough To decide how I want to die
So this morning I decided how I want to live What I want to give What kind of song I want to sing Now I’m no longer Looking at my days like they’re a cup Calling them half empty or half full When they’ve always been enough They’ll always be enough To fill me up If I stop thinking so much And start drinking them up Until I get so drunk and high on my days I’ll be walking up to strangers and saying things like “Hey, I know Jesus was born in a manger But I woke at dawn today To watch the earth’s horizon Give birth to true rising sun of God And I can’t stop singing hallelujah”
Can you believe we’re here? Can you believe there are gods somewhere praying to us? I want to be that nut on a bus Who’s really a prophet Telling everybody “Smoking is bad Stop it You might be an opera singer some day And how are you gonna hit the high notes?” I wanna live like those high notes That rise from the throats of old ladies When they see little babies Riding in shopping carts I wanna start somebody’s heart like that Taking ninety years back So you’ll have sworn You weren’t born Until you saw me Planting roses In all the sidewalk cracks So when you trip You’ll fall in love With someone you thought you hated And now look at what that love has created
Look There’s a sky On her faded blue jeans With a flock of birds About to fly to my words And my next line’s Gonna rhyme with her eyes And she’ll wink And I’ll think I’m as beautiful as him
I wanna live my life Like it’s a little league game I don’t care if I win Just wanna watch some little girl Get her very first hit Watch her father cheer so hard He spills his beer And decides to quit I wanna split some woman’s Tired eyes open Wake her with her own sunrise So she knows There’s reason to be hoping She’ll say “There are stingers in my heart But I’m sure that I’m a queen” And that night She’ll vow to swarm Until every angry car horn Is reborn a song Of let there be light Every angry war cry reborn A song of let there be life
I wanna build the timid teenage boy A microphone that will Echo his rhymes The same way They echo in his shower When he’s home alone
I wanna write poems In the tone Of your mother’s eyes When she whispered your name For the very first time Poems that will make you go home Pick up the phone And call her While I call mine to say “You know those lines On the kitchen wall Where I grew Taller and taller and taller Put a couple more there won’t you? Cause I’m growing up here” No longer looking at my days Like they’re a cup Calling them enough From now on They’ll be overflowing Since now I’m knowing It’s up to me To fill them up
“Whatever you want in life, start today.
Not tomorrow - today.
Let it be a small beginning - a tiny beginning.
Your happiness depends on starting today - every day.”—Jonathan Lockwood Huie (via creatingaquietmind)
I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.
Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You’re doing things you’ve never done before, and more importantly, you’re Doing Something.
So that’s my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody’s ever made before. Don’t freeze, don’t stop, don’t worry that it isn’t good enough, or it isn’t perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.
“The purpose of feminism isn’t to make a particular type of woman. The idea that there are inherently wrong and inherently right ‘types’ of women is what’s screwed feminism for so long – this belief that ‘we’ wouldn’t accept slaggy birds, dim birds, birds that bitch, birds that hire cleaners, birds that stay at home with their kids, birds that have pink Mini Metros with ‘Powered By Fairy Dust!’ bumper stickers, birds in burkas, or birds that like to pretend, in their heads, that they’re married to Zach Braff from Scrubs, and that you sometimes have sex in an ambulance while the rest of the cast watch and, latterly, clap. You know what? Feminism will have all of you.”—Caitlin Moran, How To Be A Woman. (via valjeans) (via ngx)