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Did This Happen To Your Mother? Did Your Sister Throw Up A Lot?

I love a man who is not worth

my love.

Did this happen to your mother?

Did your grandmother wake up

for no good reason

in the middle of the night?

I thought that love could be controlled.

It cannot.

Only behaviour can be controlled.

By biting your tongue purple

rather than speak.

Mauling your lips.

Obliterating his number

too thoroughly

to be able to phone.

Love has made me sick.

Did your sister throw up a lot?

Did your cousin complain

of a painful knot

in her back?

Did your aunt always

seem to have something else

troubling her mind?

I thought love would adapt itself

to my needs.

But needs grow too fast;

they come up like weeds.

Through cracks in the conversation.

Through silences in the dark.

Through everything you thought was concrete.

Such needful love has to be chopped out

or forced to wilt back,

poisoned by disapproval

from its own soil.

This is bad news, for the conservationist.

My hand shakes before this killing.

My stomach sits jumpy in my chest.

My chest is the Grand Canyon

sprawled empty

over the world.

Whoever he is, he is not worth all this.

And I will never

unclench my teeth long enough

to tell him so.

- Alice Walker.

I firmly believe that grace does not remain invisible to anyone who’s looking for it. And even to those who aren’t. My mom taught me that. Grace is like your next breath. Until you die, it’s always there.
The Little Flower of East Orange (via fuckyeahgreatplays)