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I tore up and ate my own passport in an airport hotel once. I'm bloated with language I can’t afford to forget.
Warsan Shire
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Warsan Shire
Age: 36
Born: 1988
Born: January 1
Poet
Writer
Republic of Kenya
Forget
Bloated
Language
Tore
Passport
Passports
Airport
Airports
Hotel
Afford
More quotes by Warsan Shire
My heart is a flower blossoming out of my mouth.
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My favourite people, biggest inspirations and closest friends are all women. Not a coincidence.
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We took such care of tomorrow, but died on the way there.
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I belong deeply to myself.
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Sad people have the gift of time, while the world dizzies everyone else they remain stagnant, their bodies refusing to follow pace with the universe. With these kind of people everything aches for too long, everything moves without rush, wounds are always wet.
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I think in Somali, I cuss in Somali, when I'm afraid I reach for somali and this language is very rich, very filling. It's an unflinching language the crudest most terrible things sound perfectly normal in Somali.
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When I love, I love: wholly, thoroughly, completely, drowning in everything. Every glance can be a conversation, eyes just playing and saying what needs to be said. Silence is loud, and the air becomes heavy. I want you. I want all of you.
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I am a lover without a lover. I am lovely and lonely and I belong deeply to myself.
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Later that night, I held an atlas on my lap, ran my fingers across the whole world, and whispered, ‘where does it hurt?’ It answered, everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.
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I know a few things to be true. I do not know where I am going, where I have come from is disappearing, I am unwelcome and my beauty is not beauty here. My body is burning with the shame of not belonging, my body is longing.
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Two people who were once very close can without blame or grand betrayal become strangers. Perhaps this is the saddest thing in the world.
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My alone feels so good, I'll only have you if you're sweeter than my solitude.
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I won't glorify or romanticise heartbreak, for me it was a kind of death and I was forced to keep living.
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Perhaps, the problem is not the intensity of your love, but the quality of the people you are loving.
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With you, intimacy colors my voice. Even 'hello' sounds like 'come here'.
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Mother says there are locked rooms inside all women, kitchen of love, bedroom of grief, bathroom of apathy. Sometimes, the men, they come with keys, and sometimes the men, they come with hammers.
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Light attracts light. But sometimes your light attracts moths and your warmth attracts parasites. Protect your space and energy
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Every mouth you’ve ever kissed was just practice. All the bodies you’ve ever undressed and ploughed in to were preparing you for me. I don’t mind tasting them in the memory of your mouth. Was it a long journey? Did it take you long to find me? You’re here now, welcome home.
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I want to love, but my hair smells of war and running and running.
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At the end of the day, it isn’t where I came from. Maybe home is somewhere I’m going and never have been before.
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