in the bathroom. Write on the bus or the welfare line, on the job or during meals, between sleeping or waking. I write while sitting on the john. No long stretches at the typewriter unless you’re wealthy or have a patron - you may not even own a typewriter. While you wash the floor or clothes listen to the words chanting in your body. When you’re depressed, angry, hurt, when compassion and love possess you.
When you cannot help but writeGloria Anzaldua (via postmodernismruinedme)
Yo no soy Ayotzinapa. Lamento romper abruptamente sus románticos #hastag, pero es necesario dejar en claro desde donde hablo. No soy Ayotzinapa porque no soy pobre, no soy indígena ni campesina y tampoco soy hombre. Sé dónde estoy parada, sé que soy una estudiante mestiza, pasante de una carrera…
The Mexican spitfire in me.
The raw navajas, glint and passion in me.
The raise Cain and dance with the rooster-footed devil in me.
The spangled sequin in me.
The eagle and serpent in me.
The mariachi trumpets of the blood in me.
The Aztec love of war in me.
The fierce obsidian of the tongue in me.
The berrinchuda, bien-cabrona in me.
Sandra Cisneros, You Bring Out the Mexican in Me (1994)
The Aztec love of war in me
(via chinaoldies)
I am a del rio…
(via lasfloresdemay0)
The essence of Chicana feminisms is speaking out—not being submissive.
You don’t bite your tongue.
Don’t you dare bite your tongue.
Your tongue is your weapon.
It guides the words which free you from the chains that have held you back for so long.
Don’t you dare apologize for speaking your mind, Chicanita.
They’ll convince you of your arrogance, rather than applauding your honesty.
Pero, don’t you dare change,
You are a warrior, fighting with words.
Your voice matters.
The institution will try to break you down.
But mi Chicanita,
You let that wild tongue run free.(x)
