I’m the type of girlfriend that loves clingy. You can’t sleep at 3 am, maybe 4? That’s okay, call me. I don’t mind if you wake me up. You’re never annoying to me, no matter how many times you call or text me. I love it. I love that you care so much.
HOW DID YOU GET SO MANY NOTESIt just happened
We’re teenagers and we like fast cars,
with music so loud it moves the city.
We need love now,
and we want it hard on the mouth,
and bruises down the neck.
We’re young and we don’t know what we’re doing.
We spend our nights being someone else,
only to forget who we were the next morning.
We hold each others shaking hands as we figure out
if our mistakes are bigger than we planned,
but we leave the room with our head held high,
and the heels of our feet clicking the sidewalk.
We’re the wasted generation,
because we don’t ‘live in the moment,’
We have to be updating everyone on what we’re doing,
who we’re with,
when we’re leaving.
We do this because one day we’re going to forget,
so why can’t we remember now?
We’re loud at the worst times,
but as soon as you need an answer out of us,
‘How was your day?
Is everything okay at home?
Do you need any help?’
our mouths clamp shut,
and our eyes bat as we nod our lying heads,
and force a plastered smile onto our faces.
We’d rather carve what’s wrong into our skin,
than have to ask for help from somebody else.
We’re the ones who are well behaved in school,
but as soon as the curtain of night time approaches,
it’s thigh to thigh,
lip to drunken lip,
intertwined with sadness and angst.
‘Kiss me until I’m numb,
kiss me until I forget my name,
kiss me kiss me kiss me.’
We’re the ones your mother never bothered warning you about.
Too quiet to cause trouble,
not quiet enough to have issues.
Even though the screams bottled inside of us
are louder than any amplifier we plug in to drown out our issues.
Don’t worry it’s just a cat scratch,
don’t worry I just tripped down the stairs.
We’re just teenagers and we like fast cars.
We’re just young and we don’t know what we’re doing.
We’re just the wasted generation.
- people who are gay can be assholes
- people with eating disorders can be assholes
- people with mental disorders can be assholes
- people who self harm can be assholes
- people who are disabled can be assholes
- people who have diseases can be assholes
do not excuse people for being assholes because something is wrong with them or have a hard life
id like to take a moment to thank our lord and savior for this post
After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.
Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?
The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.
She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,
Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.
She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.
Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.
Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.
She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.
And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.
And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,
With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.
They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.
Not everything is lost.
Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be. (via oliviacirce)
When I lose hope in the world, I remember this poem.
I’m really glad I read that.