"

May dahon,

Wala namang tangkay.

May tangkay,

Wala namang ugat.

May ugat,

Wala namang lupa.

Ito’y isang uri ng ligaw na halaman,

Ang pangala’y

Hua Chiao, Tsino sa ibayong dagat

"

There are leaves,

There is no stem.

There are stems,

There is no root.

There are roots,

There is no earth.

This is a type of wild plant

The name

Hua Chiao, overseas Chinese

The Wild Plant (Ligaw na Halaman)

by James Teng Choon Na (aka Yun He/Cloud Crane) a poet who writes about the Tsinoy (Chinese Filipino) experience.

(via thisisnotpinoy)

sinidentidades:

Whitey on the Moon 

A rat done bit my sister Nell.
(with Whitey on the moon)
Her face and arms began to swell.
(and Whitey’s on the moon)
I can’t pay no doctor bills.
(but Whitey’s on the moon)
Ten years from now I’ll be payin’ still.
(while Whitey’s on the moon)
You know, the man jus’ upped my rent las’ night.
(‘cause Whitey’s on the moon)
No hot water, no toilets, no lights. 
(but Whitey’s on the moon)
I wonder why he’s uppin’ me?
(‘cause Whitey’s on the moon?)
Well, I wuz already givin’ ‘im fifty a week.
(with Whitey on the moon)
Taxes takin’ my whole damn check,
T junkies makin’ me a nervous wreck,
The price of food is goin’ up,
An’ as if all that crap wuzn’t enough:
A rat done bit my sister Nell.
(with Whitey on the moon)
Her face an’ arm began to swell.
(but Whitey’s on the moon)
Was all that money I made las’ year
(for Whitey on the moon?)
How come I ain’t got no money here?
(Hmm! Whitey’s on the moon)
Y’know I jus’ ‘bout had my fill 
(of Whitey on the moon)
I think I’ll sen’ these doctor bills,
Airmail special
(to Whitey on the moon) 

                              — Gil Scott-Heron

'10 Honest Thoughts On Being Loved By A Skinny Boy' - Rachel Wiley.

fatcatsandcurls:

sweetdeltablues:

(I had to transcribe this poem, because it became an immediate favorite the second that I heard it.  I am over 70 pounds heavier than my boyfriend, and I have thought, felt and said all of these things before.  But he is perfect, and we are perfect together.)

10 HONEST THOUGHTS ON BEING LOVED BY A SKINNY BOY
Rachel Wiley

1.
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says ‘No, you are beautiful.’
I wonder why I cannot be both.
He kisses me
hard.

2.
My college theater professor once told me
that despite my talent,
I would never be cast as a romantic lead.
We do plays that involve singing animals
and children with the ability to fly,
but apparently no one
has enough willing suspension of disbelief
to go with anyone loving a fat girl.
I daydream regularly
about fucking my boyfriend vigorously on his front lawn.

3.
On the mornings I do not feel pretty,
while he is still asleep,
I sit on the floor and check the pockets of his skinny jeans for motive,
for a punchline,
for other girls’ phone numbers.

4.
When we hold hands in public,
I wonder if he notices the looks —
like he is handling a parade balloon on a crowded sidewalk;
if he notices that my hands are now made of rope. 

5.
Dear Cosmo: Fuck you.
I will not take sex tips from you
on how to please a man you think I do not deserve.

6.
He tells me he loves me with the lights on.

7.
I can cup his hip bone in my hand,
feel his ribs without pressing very hard at all.
He does not believe me when I tell him he is beautiful. 
Sometimes I fear the day he does will be the day he leaves. 

8.
The cute hipster girl at the coffee shop
assumes we are just friends
and flirts over the counter.
I spend the next two weeks
mentally replacing myself with her
in all of our photographs.
When I admit this to him
we spend the evening taking new photos together.
He will not let me delete a single one of them.

9.
The phrase “Big girls need love too” can die in a fire.
Fucking me does not require an asterisk.
Loving me is not a fetish.
Finding me beautiful is not a novelty. 
I am not a fucking novelty.

10.
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says, ‘No. You are so much more’,
and kisses me
hard. 

this makes me cry

this is so me it’s not even funny

(via queervashti)

When white male writers complain that publications devoted to promoting the work of women and people of color are “unfair”

whatshouldwecallpoets:

(via chauvinistsushi)

tigressunlimited:

withrevolutionarycries:

sexismandthecity:

yes-tak-si:

Had to listen to the whole poem from the photo set going around tumblr. She’s fucking brilliant. Will start following her for sure.

Transcript :

We’ve learned to call queens outside of their real titles. Girls became ‘Jawns’, ‘Jawns’ became ‘bitches’, and bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks. Whose trick was that? Is it a coincidence that the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalene share the same name, but not the same crown? These girls have no crown. Just scalp-pats and ass-taps. They say “Hit it from the back”. Well, I couldn’t look a Queen in the eye either. So we’ll just pretend they’re all animals or objects. Because devotion is harder than disconnection. Someone disconnect the throne from the seat of their elastic denim. Beat them till they bounce back like rubber-banded bimbos. Tell them bend over. Can you wave hello to hell? Can you smell the burning embers? Does it smell like sulphur? Does it smell like dirty twat? You know, dirty twats get swatted into filthy gutters. We’ve got to get our minds out the gutter. Gotta get these hoes off the track. Gotta get this glue out this trap. Those sticky, Nicki Minaj impersonators, those self-proclaimed “Bad bitches”, “Hood Bitches”, “Five-star Bitches”. They disrespect the galaxies because heaven has no place for whores. So where will they go? Sexual freedom isn’t acceptable for women. Due to the misogyny massaged into men’s brains. A Queen loses her crown when she loses her virginity. And a Queen becomes a ‘bitch’ when she likes it.”

—  Kai Davis, A Queen Loses Her Crown When She Loses Her Virginity

yay transcript!

They say “Hit it from the back”. Well, I couldn’t look a Queen in the eye either. ”

Oh damn!

(via october-eightyeight)

kemetically-ankhtified:

“The People’s Poet” Make His Transition: R.I.P. Louis Reyes Rivera

Our community has lost another great artist. Louis Reyes Rivera, prolific writer, poet, and activist, has passed.
For those who may not know  much of Rivera, he was an influential educator and artist. Steeped in a  Pan-African outlook and dedicated to teaching those around him, Louis  made numerous literary contributions. Despite earning many accolades, he  was always approachable. The winner of many literary awards came to be  known as “The People’s Poet” through his embrace of issues of everyday  folks. One of his sharpest points of focus was on the connection between  African-American and Latino culture.
Rivera was born in New York City in 1945. Raised in Brooklyn, he  would come to do some vital things in the world of activism. He was a  key person in the struggle of Black and Puerto Rican students back in  the 1960′s. Louis was a student leader in the 1969 takeover of City College, and the co-founder of The Paper, a student publication for people of  color. Without the efforts of Rivera amongst others, generations of  people of color would not have had the opportunity for higher education.
Always willing to reach back into the community and share his wealth  of knowledge, Louis could often be found at a workshop or classroom. He  would teach on the finer points of poetry, knowing your rights as a  writer, and carrying forth the history of the oppressed through artistic  means. He was a member of the National Writers Union and performed a  piece at the 30th anniversary of the organization late last year. He held workshops at the Harlem Book Fair, and performed on Def Poetry.
Louis Reyes Rivera was a conduit of information, and inspired many  artists and activists. He will definitely be missed. For paving the way  for countless students of color to gain access to public higher  education, I must say Rest in Power, and thank you. Rivera was 67 years  old.

-Marc W. Polite

kemetically-ankhtified:

“The People’s Poet” Make His Transition: R.I.P. Louis Reyes Rivera

Our community has lost another great artist. Louis Reyes Rivera, prolific writer, poet, and activist, has passed.

For those who may not know much of Rivera, he was an influential educator and artist. Steeped in a Pan-African outlook and dedicated to teaching those around him, Louis made numerous literary contributions. Despite earning many accolades, he was always approachable. The winner of many literary awards came to be known as “The People’s Poet” through his embrace of issues of everyday folks. One of his sharpest points of focus was on the connection between African-American and Latino culture.

Rivera was born in New York City in 1945. Raised in Brooklyn, he would come to do some vital things in the world of activism. He was a key person in the struggle of Black and Puerto Rican students back in the 1960′s. Louis was a student leader in the 1969 takeover of City College, and the co-founder of The Paper, a student publication for people of color. Without the efforts of Rivera amongst others, generations of people of color would not have had the opportunity for higher education.

Always willing to reach back into the community and share his wealth of knowledge, Louis could often be found at a workshop or classroom. He would teach on the finer points of poetry, knowing your rights as a writer, and carrying forth the history of the oppressed through artistic means. He was a member of the National Writers Union and performed a piece at the 30th anniversary of the organization late last year. He held workshops at the Harlem Book Fair, and performed on Def Poetry.

Louis Reyes Rivera was a conduit of information, and inspired many artists and activists. He will definitely be missed. For paving the way for countless students of color to gain access to public higher education, I must say Rest in Power, and thank you. Rivera was 67 years old.

-Marc W. Polite

(Source: revolutionary-afrolatino, via fuckyeahmarxismleninism)

spanish ain’t for everyone, apparently.

fivelettered:

Spanish

is the language of love

but only if you’re pretty.

If your skin is light

and your hair is straight

and you have just a tinge of

exotic

then maybe

you can be loved

but if you are browner

than a paper bag

and it will never look like

just a good tan

or possibly your hair is curled

and your nose or brows are a little

heavy

then you are one of those

“dirty illegals”

polluting society

with their dirty

language

children

breathing

and that you should

“speak English”

and go back to your “own country”

which is also an

owned country.

but by all means

pretty people, speak spanish

that’s what they say.

(via theabsurdwiththevulgar-deactiva)

delisubthefemmecub:

fromonesurvivortoanother:

Suheir Hammad - First Writing Since

The Palestinian American poet’s experience of 9/11 and racism.

one more person asked me if i knew the hijackers.
one more motherfucker asked me what navy my brother is in.
one more person assumed no arabs or muslims were killed.
one more person assumed they know me, or that i represent a people.
or that a people represent an evil. or that evil is as simple as a
flag and words on a page.

we did not vilify all white men when mcveigh bombed oklahoma.
america did not give out his family’s addresses or where he went to
church. or blame the bible or pat robertson.

and when the networks air footage of palestinians dancing in the
street, there is no apology that hungry children are bribed with
sweets that turn their teeth brown. that correspondents edit images.
that archives are there to facilitate lazy and inaccurate
journalism.

and when we talk about holy books and hooded men and death, why do we
never mention the kkk?

Full text here.

so many tears

(via numol)

Ayn Rand (Poem #8, Serious Business Poem #1)

sunekdokhe:

I shall never be with a man
If his favorite author is Ayn Rand
If Atlas Shrugged is his favorite book
At him I will not even look.
And if he liked the Fountainhead,
my love for him is dead, dead, dead.

(via squeetothegee-deactivated201111)