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You can't make homes out of human beings.

Warsan Shire

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Warsan Shire
Age: 36
Born: 1988
Born: January 1
Poet
Writer
Republic of Kenya
Shire
Homes
Beings
Home
Human
Humans
Make

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It's not my responsibility to be beautiful. I'm not alive for that purpose. My existence is not about how desirable you find me.
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Apathy is the same as war, it all kills you, she says. Slow like cancer in the breast or fast like a machete in the neck.
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Your mouth is a lonely place but I keep coming back.
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Don't assume, ask. Be kind. Tell the truth. Don't say anything you can't stand behind fully. Have integrity. Tell people how you feel.
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How far have you walked for men who've never held your feet in their laps?
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My favourite people, biggest inspirations and closest friends are all women. Not a coincidence.
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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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There is no intimacy like that between two women who have chosen to be sisters.
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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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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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The ego hurts you like this: you become obsessed with the one person who does not love you. blind to the rest who do.
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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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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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Make love like you have no secrets like you've never been left never been hurt like the world don't owe you a single wretched thing.
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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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I tend to the wound so often, it never heals.
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I have my mother’s mouth and my father’s eyes on my face they are still together.
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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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And you tried to change, didn't you? Closed your mouth more. Tried to be softer, prettier, less volatile, less awake... You can't make homes out of human beings. Someone should have already told you that. And if he wants to leave, then let him leave. You are terrifying, and strange, and beautiful. Something not everyone knows how to love.
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Document the moments you feel most in love with yourself - what you're wearing, who you're around, what you're doing. Recreate and repeat.
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