Kaya-Renee Cousin

Poet. Plant enthusiast.

Let the universe figure it out for you.

(Source: fablock)

“You’re not to be so blind with patriotism that you can’t face reality. Wrong is wrong, no matter who does it or says it.”
Malcolm X, By Any Means Necessary  (via aestheticintrovert)

(Source: hqlines)

“Baby I understand that some nights sadness will hit you like a tidal wave and there is no way to stop it or tell when it is coming. I understand how hard it is to keep from drowning. But I need you to understand this. When you are sad, I will call you and read you parts of my favorite book so that for a little while you can leave this life and feel like you’re someone else. When you are too sad to even speak I’ll sit there with you and listen to you breathe and memorize your heartbeat. And when you tell me that you need me, I will already be on my way to you. And if you want to cry, I will hold you all night. And if you want to laugh, I will bring your favorite comedy over and I will watch it with you and fall in love with your tear filled eyes every time the tv lights them up. If you want to be alone, I will give you space. But I will come back in the morning and tell you how beautiful you are and that I’m so happy you made it through the night. I will hold your hand and tell you that tonight will be better. And I’ll do everything I can to try and make that happen. So it’s okay to be sad, because I will always be here to make you happy again.”
It’s 1am and I need you to know this (via boobslyn)

(Source: )


"Look bitch, I don’t care about you. I don’t care if you are having a baby. You are going to die and I don’t feel a thing about it." Susan Atkins to Sharon Tate on the night of her murder

I didn’t know how to love him
when he asked if I wanted to go grocery shopping
with him that Sunday morning.

He fixed the collar of his dress shirt
and told me it was fine that I forgot his birthday
and shrugged when I came an hour late to meet him for dinner.

He couldn’t swim yet I wanted to go fishing
and he joked about me being his life jacket
but I felt him going under and drowning in my excuses.

I couldn’t even love him on a Friday night after work.
He brought me a margarita and watched as I headed over to the bar
to talk to other men about a football game I didn’t understand.

You talked about your mother
like she painted the stars on a warm summer night
and I couldn’t help but laugh through the stories of your brothers.

I ordered myself takeout at your apartment
because you were too lazy to get up
to merely put some bread in the toaster and give me a little butter.

I ran after work to meet you for a drink
and you mumbled an insincere apology to reschedule
and forgot to call me back that night I needed you the most.

You told me I was pretty when I was going out.
I wished you had called me beautiful while I was pouring us cereal
in the middle of the night since breakfast just tasted better after 12AM.

A Story A Day #252 // Unrequited by Ming D. Liu 

(via mingdliu)

Solutions for Wanting to Die


Eventually I will end up without enough candles

to keep lighting a séance for the person I used to be

to come back home.

All the melting wax dripping from my bedroom walls

could fill a birthday cake three times over.

In my dreams, my mother shells lobsters and hangs the detached claws


"She feels so sad, doesn’t she?"

I am asking this of my friend,
Referring to the beautiful city whose streets we are currently walking side by side.
In Jerusalem, more than any other place we have been yet,
I see the intertwined cultures that have formed this land.

We stay in a Catholic convent,
In the Muslim Quarter
Of what people envision as a Jewish city,
And the delicate balance between Muslim and Jew is palpable,
From the moment we walk in.

Entering Jerusalem,
I find myself with a weapon pointed my direction for the first time:
A young man who looks my age and nervous,
Aiming it towards our group as we make the trek up to the convent.

There is a mob of Israeli soldiers everywhere I look,
Each one intimidating between the weapons they hold
And the bone-chilling Call to Prayer sounding in the background.

Shabbat comes.
They plan a memorial for the three boys found dead,
And I am uneasy as we make our way to the Western Wall,
Because we have all heard rumors of riots.

There are none.
But when returning to the convent after a forced detour
Through the Jewish Quarter
A group of men:
Tall, shrouded in shadows,
Leer closer to our group and shout, “Death to the Jews!”

We lower our eyes to the ground and keep walking,

That night,
Many of us cannot sleep for the gunshots and explosions.

"She is beautiful,"
I am saying this to my friend as we wander Jerusalem,
Taking in her history and her people.

The shopkeepers my professor introduces us to
Asks after his children
And gives us discounts on the items we buy
Even though business has been bad
Between Ramadan and the conflict.

The pilgrims who walk down Via Dolorosa sing,
Voices carrying over the city’s sounds
And sending chills down our spine.
My friend told me she only feels Catholic in Rome.
I did not understand until now.

While we are in Jerusalem,
We take side trips to Palestine.
We are only minutes in when my professor
Ever the enthusiastic theologian,
Rouses us from our naps, saying
This is the Holy Land,”
Indicating to the beauty outside our bus windows.

It does not properly sink in until I am sitting in an old house
In the last fully Christian village in Palestine
With the former mayor’s wife explaining
How Biblical events could be better understood
By examining its layout.

Is where they would have lowered the paralyzed man from the roof.”
Is where Mary would have given birth.”

And then:
After touristy explanation has given way to quiet anecdote,
And we are an audience captured by beautiful words,
She says,
“I got in trouble once for trying to take my husband and his mother to Jerusalem.
They said I was trying to sneak aliens into Israel.
He was born in Jerusalem. I do not see how he could be an alien.”

There is such bitter resignation in her voice,
I found myself ready to weep
When I was home,
I was sent an email from her that made me do the same again.

She tells us:
“They are holding signs in Jerusalem that say ‘Death to all Arabs.’
They are holding signs in Tel Aviv that say there are no innocents in Gaza.”
There have been 250 dead children in Palestine in the past 21 days.
What is their definition of innocence?

Her sister-in-law’s cousin’s body is 80% burnt,
He no longer has a left leg or right foot
A young man from the kibbutz I stayed at is dead.
They say his mother works in the hotel gift shop,
And I think of the smiling women I met in the store and wonder
Which will never smile again.

"Death to Israel," so many say.
“Death to Palestine,” so many cry.
I think of dead children, and burnt bodies, and weeping mothers
In a land I had fallen in love with,
And wonder how anyone could want this destruction.

"This is the Holy Land,"
My professor’s words echo in my ear,
And I lie awake wondering how there, of all places:
How is it that anyone would want death?
How is it that not everyone could want life?

no victors in war, Drea O. (via susanpevensy)



Bathroom selfies are b a c k.

Is that my sweater? ?


Bathroom selfies are b a c k.

If bruise were a colour


I’d paint my walls with it.

Some days they’d look like flowers
blooming beneath Winter skies
when the snow’s stopped falling
for a little while to let us breathe.

Other days, they’d be paint water
spilt on the floor and we’d lie arms
outstretched over them, staring at…