Imogen Rose

Imogen, USA. There's a bluebird in my heart.

I am not Mike Brown. I am white. I am middle class. I am female. I am small. I am not considered a threat. When police see me they see someone who looks like them. They see their mothers, their daughters, their sisters, themselves. I am not at risk of being shot by police for existing while black. I am not at risk of being shot while unarmed. I am not at risk of being shot while armed with nothing more than a BB gun. I am not at risk of being shot for reaching for my wallet. I am privileged.
But I am outraged. And if you aren’t outraged, then you aren’t paying attention. This is America in 2014. This is our reality. It’s so easy to get jaded and to ignore these atrocities, to act like this doesn’t affect us. It’s so easy to get apathetic. In the past it was the youth who protested. Where is the rage of the youth? Where is our rage?
Like I said, I am not Mike Brown. But I am outraged.

: I am not Mike Brown.  (via fitle-tight)

I just don’t know how to get involved. Someone please tell me

(via lostinthelovely)

pain sits
pain floats
pain waits
pain is.

—Charles Bukowski (from the poem ‘the condition’)

(Source: lit-quotes)

poetic-floetry:

brentknepper:

It’s been an incredibly difficult five days with what’s happened in what I look at as my back yard. Last night watching the live feeds of what was happening in Ferguson, MO was absolutely unbelievable and I spent the entire night refreshing twitter feeling total shame and despair.

Today though, across the country there were little glimpses of light at this very dark tunnel. Being consumed by this level of anger feels exhausting, and take that with an incredibly huge grain of salt because that’s just what I with the privilege of being a white male am capable of feeling. I’m not capable of comprehending the real pain. At today’s NMOS14 demonstration in Chicago, an incredible number of people gathered on short notice. The assembly was peaceful. We listened to people express their hurt, their hope, their anger, and their drive to change things. Once my camera died (again, short notice on this rally), I biked straight to my computer to share the solidarity- if only here in Chicago.

I know this isn’t really the stuff I normally post on here, but I figure the one time I’m literally crying while taking pictures is probably a good time to post stuff. My gratitude goes to everyone organizing today, and not just here but everywhere.

I Just wanna day I have had the chance to work with all the people photographed in these pictures. They’re apart of an organization called Young Chicago Authors and have strived effortlessly to help change the lives of Black youth in Chicago. I would of been there today myself if I could be, and it warms my heart to see them out there doing their thang as usual.

(via think-poetry)

TLC

—Sumthin' Wicked This Way Comes

rookiemag:

If we could all agree
To letting our souls become free
Of that sweet bitterness
Then who’s chest would have the most seeds?

- Hazel

You don’t have a soul, you are a soul. You have a body.

—Probably not C.S. Lewis, but Walter M. Millet

thebicker:

radicalrebellion:

nelaguilvr:

iamchantaya:

rhomeporium:

A mother’s worst nightmare.

She was preaching

this gave me chills

Black woman who lost her son just preached on systemic racism, antiblackness, Black ppls internalized self-hatred and white supremacy. 

But some of y’all missed it 

This is Michael Brown’s mother speaking, FYI.

(via think-poetry)

famphic:

hightopbunfreshtipnail:

Seriously guys, please spread the word about this petition.

SIGN THIS because:

• cops think that Mike Brown’s life was worth less than the $3 candy bar he supposedly stole
• one white person can cry about a cop killing their dog and get a law passed requiring officers to undergo additional training to handle dogs
• but every 28 hours a black person is killed by police
• and yet at least one million dissenting voices will be required to be heard by the US government

(via phonyzamboni)

"I must continue to follow the path I take now. If I do nothing, if I study nothing, if I cease searching, then, woe is me, I am lost. That is how I look at it — keep going, keep going come what may. But what is your final goal, you may ask. That goal will become clearer, will emerge slowly but surely, much as the rough draught turns into a sketch, and the sketch into a painting through the serious work done on it, through the elaboration of the original vague idea and through the consolidation of the first fleeting and passing thought".

—Vincent Van Gogh