THIS IS MY DESIGN

"

Today little sister cracks open
a second egg and mom’s eyes
dart across the kitchen.

'You are not supposed to eat
more than one egg a day
you know that is far
too much cholesterol.’

The first meal I ate at the hospital
was a two-egged omelette
drenched in cheese.
My mother sat across from me
while the nurses and social workers
retaught her how to feed me.

They told her I was not allowed
to hide cheese under my plate,
or pick off the tortilla shell
and avoid the egg yolk.

They told her there were new rules, now
3000 to 5000 calories a day,
every day
no more sugar-free jello
egg whites
and tea

That night we went to the grocery store
and felt the world tilt upside down
We walked passed the low fat,
no cholesterol
sugar-free
Until we hit the goldmine:
poppyseed muffins,
ice cream bars
whole milk
full fat butter.
Foods that would make my heart beat regularly again
and put life back in my eyes.

Today I tell my mother I think it is fine
for little sister to eat two eggs,
cholesterol be damned.

But she looks me in the eye and says
“It’s different for you.”

This is the same phrase she repeats
when I ask her why she does not want us to cook noodles
for mother’s day dinner
or why she is not eating sugar
this week.

It is a phrase which means:
because you showed so much control
that you grew out of control
You are Hereby Exempt
from the Dieting Culture

It is a phrase which means,
‘I am drawing a firm line
between the South Beach diet
The No-Carb diet
The No-Sugar diet
The Atkins diet
The You Are Inherently Flawed and in Need of Fixing
Diet

and illness.’

Because nobody likes to think about the fact
that perhaps we are all playing with fire
that perhaps The American Dream
(and by this I mean weight loss)
is nothing but a smokescreen.
That perhaps shrinking oneself successfully
does not actually move mountains,
paint your soul in bright gold,
or part the seas.

That perhaps making ourselves disappear
won’t fix the real problems
our good intentions will never
pave the path to heaven.

Tomorrow when I wake up
I am going to breathe in the morning air
and thank the universe for poppyseed muffins,
ice cream bars
whole milk
full fat butter

I am going to change the world

and fry two eggs for breakfast.

"

-

Sarah TTwo Eggs (via bravegirl-living)

omg you’re amazing

(via emergingsoul)

Is this a slam poem? can it please be a slam poem? can you PLEASE perform this and put it on youtube or something???

(via fightthewhispers)

(via wildflowersinherhair)

Kids (MGMT cover)

Of Monsters and Men

Nanna Bryndís Hilmarsdóttir (vocals) and Brynjar Liefsson (guitar) cover MGMT’s Kids

(Source: theywerebirds, via wildflowersinherhair)

"

In the first version, Persephone
is taken from her mother
and the goddess of the earth
punishes the earth—this is
consistent with what we know of human behavior,

that human beings take profound satisfaction
in doing harm, particularly
unconscious harm:

we may call this
negative creation.

Persephone’s initial
sojourn in hell continues to be
pawed over by scholars who dispute
the sensations of the virgin:

did she cooperate in her rape,
or was she drugged, violated against her will,
as happens so often now to modern girls.

As is well known, the return of the beloved
does not correct
the loss of the beloved: Persephone

returns home
stained with red juice like
a character in Hawthorne—

I am not certain I will
keep this word: is earth
“home” to Persephone? Is she at home, conceivably,
in the bed of the god? Is she
at home nowhere? Is she
a born wanderer, in other words
an existential
replica of her own mother, less
hamstrung by ideas of causality?

You are allowed to like
no one, you know. The characters
are not people.
They are aspects of a dilemma or conflict.

Three parts: just as the soul is divided,
ego, superego, id. Likewise

the three levels of the known world,
a kind of diagram that separates
heaven from earth from hell.

You must ask yourself:
where is it snowing?

White of forgetfulness,
of desecration—

It is snowing on earth; the cold wind says

Persephone is having sex in hell.
Unlike the rest of us, she doesn’t know
what winter is, only that
she is what causes it.

She is lying in the bed of Hades.
What is in her mind?
Is she afraid? Has something
blotted out the idea
of mind?

She does know the earth
is run by mothers, this much
is certain. She also knows
she is not what is called
a girl any longer. Regarding
incarceration, she believes

she has been a prisoner since she has been a daughter.

The terrible reunions in store for her
will take up the rest of her life.
When the passion for expiation
is chronic, fierce, you do not choose
the way you live. You do not live;
you are not allowed to die.

You drift between earth and death
which seem, finally,
strangely alike. Scholars tell us

that there is no point in knowing what you want
when the forces contending over you
could kill you.

White of forgetfulness,
white of safety—

They say
there is a rift in the human soul
which was not constructed to belong
entirely to life. Earth

asks us to deny this rift, a threat
disguised as suggestion—
as we have seen
in the tale of Persephone
which should be read

as an argument between the mother and the lover—
the daughter is just meat.

When death confronts her, she has never seen
the meadow without the daisies.
Suddenly she is no longer
singing her maidenly songs
about her mother’s
beauty and fecundity. Where
the rift is, the break is.

Song of the earth,
song of the mythic vision of eternal life—

My soul
shattered with the strain
of trying to belong to earth—

What will you do,
when it is your turn in the field with the god?

"

- Louise Glück, Persephone, The Wanderer (via cannellaeluce)

(via wildflowersinherhair)