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He comes to you like another solemn faced man intending to save you from the influence of your new self; the one that you’ve come to love. You no longer look pathetic in his eyes and it’s a threat, like you’re bound to burst with an evolved sense of respect for yourself. Then who will he be, but a man without a cause, a hero without a damsel in endless distress. That’s who you were supposed to be, a girl in agony who only felt love, when it was coming from someone else.
j.h. | when you start to love yourself
(via new-poets-society)


(Source: absentpoetics)


Detroit suspends water shutoffs for 15 days | Detroit Free Press

The Detroit Water and Sewerage Department is suspending its water shutoffs for 15 days starting today to give residents another chance to prove they are unable to pay their bills.

“In case we have missed someone who has legitimate affordability problems this will allow them to come to us to see if they can work out payments,” department spokesman Bill Johnson said. “We’ve always maintained that what we were doing was a collection effort — not a shutoff effort.”

The department’s decision comes on the same day that a group of Detroit residents filed a lawsuit in the city’s bankruptcy case asking U.S. Bankruptcy Judge Steven Rhodes to restore water service to residential customers.

The residents, backed by a coalition of activist and community groups, allege that the city is violating the constitutional rights and contractual rights by shutting off water for those who owe back payments.

(Read Full Tex) (Photo Credit: US Uncut)

A trip…


I nearly came

almost busted and became feathery technicolor inspiration

a weightless evidence of surging joy

with a smile that fit like a gift.


you were and then weren’t in a moment and all I could do was remember the hot breath close enough to unhinge me, then the chill that flicked me where your heat had been.

All at once I was normal

hearing what they heard

with eyes full of landscapes and a sky that didn’t twinkle or sing or burst into anything. ..

a flatness that never rose to poetry

or eruptions of language ignited

by the continuous dance in the heart.


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