Gabrielle Tesfaye // - Artist - //

96 plays
Erykah Badu,

I can’t believe

That we’re still livin’

Oh, in this crazy, crazy world

That I’m still livin’

With all the problems of the day

How can we go on? 

So tired of hearin’ people say

"How can we go on?"


(via 87true)


I shared my body and my mind with you
Thats all over now

(via tiramasu)

Small peek of Swoon’s installation at the Brooklyn Museum. #swoon #brooklyn (at Brooklyn Museum)

"You’re not protecting the people and you’re not protecting property, so why are you there?" 

"You don’t own us anymore."

(via nappynomad)

I like things that make me stop. Spotted in BK. #brooklyn #publicart #mural (at Brooklyn, New York)

Can you tell me why

Every time I step outside

I see my niggas die

Im letting you know

That there ain’t no gun they make

that can kill my soul”

(via 384400kilometerstillhome)


LUPITA ON WANGECHI | by Zina Saro Wiwa

Back in 2010, as part of her project “This is My Africa”, Zina Saro Wiwa interviewed Lupita Nyong’o about her love for the work of Wangechi Mutu.

One of my favorite artists

(via thewrathofkwan)

I miss this spot. Brooklyn, I will be back with you in 3 days. 
Any fellow artists in the NYC looking to connect?

I miss this spot. Brooklyn, I will be back with you in 3 days. 

Any fellow artists in the NYC looking to connect?

The energy of sadness from St Louis crept  into my room

And straight into my heart

Aja Monet on repeat 

Trying to write out these scars

The pain goes deep

I wonder how we can ever be happy here again

I wonder if we will ever get back our own land

If we can’t get back the lost life.

You never made love to me
You made lies
Depressed epiphanies

These recent actions are not appreciated

I know you better 

Than they do.

What you call “showing love” is not actually to show it for me,

Or too make me feel good,

Playing it to the public that everything is all good, 

While I still have your hateful emails of unedited threats 

Saying you’ll expose my body to the fucking internet

I’ll never let you manipulate me to be ashamed of my East African beauty,

You tried so many times to make me believe I was prideful and ugly for it.

While in the public cheaply praising our African Woman for being strong

I thank my Ethiopian ancestors for keeping me strong

Igzee’abihier Yimmesgen, its what we sing in our songs.

You do these fake actions to show others, that you’re a, “good person”

So you can have a mask to hide behind when you are ready to play victim again

Real eyes recognize the reblogs as politics in disguise.

While your toys continue to send me hate mail 

Trying to tell me, I should let Facebook see MY body

Which lets me know you are still at it with your disgusting manipulation 

Of peoples understanding of you.

You lie so much

You have started believing

In your own shit.

My next tears will be for your next victim,

I’ve given you too many of the diamonds that leak from my eyes

You’d think a man like him would be rich by now,

But he’s the type who throws his undeserved treasures away 

Foolishly mistaking them as trash.


wish I had someone to rub away this tension.

Three years later, a new girl sits cross-legged on your bed.
She tastes like a different flavor of bubblegum than you are used to.
She opens up a book that you had to read in high school, and a folded picture of us falls out of chapter three.
Now there are two unfinished stories resting in her lap.
Inevitably, she asks, and you tell her.

You say: I dated her a while back.
You don’t say: Sometimes, when I’m holding you, I imagine the smell of her vanilla perfume.

You say: She was younger than me.
You don’t say: The sixteen summers in her bones warmed the eighteen winters my skin had weathered.

You say: It’s nothing now.
You don’t say: But it was everything then.

Some things are better left unsaid. (via poppyflowerpoetry)

(via confessionsofxfashionholic)