It's Life

A woman who controls and manipulates her boyfriend is just as abusive as a man who controls and manipulates his girlfriend, pass it on.

i-always-miss-you (via wnq-writers)

probably-not-interesting  (via wnq-writers)

- Nav K, By Bodies of Water

- Z.M.

Get it here <3

DAY TWO So, I come from a long line of bartenders, sweat-breakers, broken backs from digging ditches, and a handful of teachers. Mom taught math, Sis’ teaches English, and Dad told us stories. Now, all of this spins around in my mind and I see it spinning faster and faster in reflection in the eyes of the student who’s face is only inches from mine as he says, “What are you gonna do about it if I don’t” all puffer fish pointy chested as the rest of the high school class waits. Waits as the ink beneath my long sleeves, button up, and slacks begin to burn. Waits as my first mosh-pit branded brain begins to boil. Waits as I keep back the gasoline bile and get all choked up on the hand-grenade pins and needles that have been planted in my throat and grown a drum set in my jawbone I play in time with the swaying picket signs. But today, today I muted it. Honestly, I’m proud of this kid. I want to tell him this.I want to tell him I’m glad. I’m glad that after thirteen years of learning, the one thing he has not picked up on is to blindly follow authority. I want to tell him this. I want to tell him I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re stuck in a broken system where men in designer suits who have never even seen a classroom keep cutting art out of the heart of education because you can’t properly or profitably express yourself well enough through a color by letters number two pencil piss poor pointillist painting like A, B, C, or D all of the above is being held above all else. I wanna tell him all of this. I wanna tell him I’m sorry, but it just comes out as “Sit down, kid.” Sit down. Save your strength. Hold on to that crumpled paper, homemade bomb heart that keeps blasting shards of chicken scratch shrapnel through your blood stream. Hold on to it like sand bags for a real rainy day. I know it hurts right now for you because it still does for me too, but there’s a difference between picking a fight and picking your fights. This one’s not worth it. I’m temporary, man. I’m gone from your life by the end of this period. Then I’m off to who knows where to substitute all of their authority and none of the time. All of their authority and none of the mutual respect. All of their authority and none of the real chances to make you listen, so listen now, “Sit down.” A cop’s not gonna be so polite, kid. You’ll get nothing less than a slap on the jaw with a night stick. “Sit down.” There’s something to be said for political captives, but there’s not a whole lotta valor in a detention slip. “Sit down.” Sit down and stand up for something worth it. Stand up and stand strong for something worth it. But for now, “Sit down.” I’m sorry. I’m tired. I spent all of yesterday in a gang graffiti soaked, in-school suspension classroom breaking up fights, and squared off with a seventh grade girl with more balls than either of us would know what to do with and a blade in her backpack for the walk home. “Sit down.” This tough guy act aint gonna work on me. For christsake you’re wearing 3D glasses with the lenses popped out right now. How am I supposed to take you seriously? But seriously, you might not get it now and you probably think I’m just another asshole with a name tag telling you what to do, but I swear from the bottom of the bricks and spray paint in my belly that when I’m saying “Sit down” I’m praying you learn what it means to stand up.