The First Time I Read This I Peaked

the muslim men wear long white pants and tunics in airy, breathable fabric. their headwear is red or black or white to symbolise their culture. Jordanian, Saudi Arabian. The muslim Women wear long black robes, loose and shapeless. their faces are covered, sometimes, also veiled in black fabric. Theories as to this sea of black and white we see in muslim countries:

-Black fabric is breathable without any chance of being see through. the men, of course, don’t have to worry about see through clothing, because no one is trying to see through to their skin.

-Black is not a color. it isn’t noticeable, it cannot catch eyes. A Woman in pink, white, blue is a treat for her husband.

-the colours are a symbol. The men wear white because they are pure, made in the image of God. the Women wear black , a burdensome color in the hot sun, as penance for being the original sin.

But my theory is a little different . When I see those Women, shapeless, lacking identity, dragging this hot fabric around in the beaming desert sun, I see people in mourning. Women, who don’t even realise it, are forced to live in the wake of their own potential, had they not been forced into this binary. Gender, in this society, is divided into two:the sin, and the one compelled by sin. And, even if it’s for a brief moment, before the reality of it comes back to me, I see Women mourning themselves.

It's so draining xo

happy international Women’s day!! (every day for me)

joins tumblr to pass time

becomes a radical feminist

what the heart does best is convince you it’s only purpose is to pump blood like a metal machine housed in your soft body. until something gets to you, then you forget there’s anything else it’s meant to do besides ache, and ache, and ache.

soo cute btw love this lookout

Taken in 2000 about a year into our relationship.

Taken in 2024 (last weekend). Didn’t quite get the pose or positioning right, but hey, we’re older and our memory ain’t what it used to be!

just a few more minutes please?

in your arms, before it gets complicated?

just a couple more touches, here and there?

a few more movie dates?

just one more chance to straddle you in warm lake water and kiss you until i get shy of watching eyes

just a few more minutes walking around a shopping mall, hesitating to hold your hand,

just one more hike, one more perfect view

just another t shirt that smells like you?

or maybe another long drive in your car

or just a few more phone calls

with that deep tired voice

before it gets old

before you get mean

before it fades

just a few more moments

and then i’ll walk away

#(a poem for when it’s only a matter of time)

when mitski said

I spent all my teen-age years being obsessed with beauty, and I’m very resentful about it and I’m very angry.

I had so much intelligence and energy and drive, and instead of using that to study more, or instead of pursuing something or going out and learning about or changing the world, I directed all that fire inward, and burnt myself up.

Just wanted to tell y'all how grateful I am that radblr exists. Bright spot of my day to be able to interact with women of similar outlooks and theoretical backgrounds in this cesspool of a culture

2 April, 1937 Letters to Véra by Vladimir Nabokov