Milk and Honey / Молоко и мед (by Rupi Kaur, 2016) - аудиокнига на английском

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Milk and Honey / Молоко и мед (by Rupi Kaur, 2016) - аудиокнига на английском

Milk and Honey / Молоко и мед (by Rupi Kaur, 2016) - аудиокнига на английском

«Молоко и мед» – это сборник стихов и прозы о выживании. Об опыте насилия, жестокого обращения, любви, потери и женственности. Аудиокнига разделена на четыре главы, каждая из которых служит своей цели. Имеет дело с другой болью. Лечит другую душевную боль. «Milk and Honey» переносит слушателей в путешествие по самым горьким моментам жизни и находит в них сладость, потому что сладость есть везде, если вы просто хотите посмотреть. Она пишет о любви и потере, травмах и женственности – предметах, которые многие так обожают. Скромным, но обстоятельным языком автор рассказывает о том, что значит быть сломленным, быть любимым и стать сильнее в одиночестве. Этот сборник, хотя и во многом простой, обращается к самым темным и обнадеживающим вопросам человеческого сердца. Если вам нравится погружаться в свои чувства или если вы часто размышляете над такими темами, как расширение прав и возможностей женщин, преодоление горя или что значит любить, я бы порекомендовал вам как можно скорее попробовать молоко и мед.

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Milk and Honey / Молоко и мед (by Rupi Kaur, 2016) - аудиокнига на английском
Год выпуска аудиокниги:
Rupi Kaur
Rupi Kaur
поэзия, проза
Уровень сложности:
Длительность аудио:
Битрейт аудио:
33 kbps
mp3, pdf, doc

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milk and honey rupi kaur for the arms that hold me my heart woke me crying last night how can i help i begged my heart said write the book contents the hurting the loving the breaking the healing a letter about the writer about the book how is it so easy for you to be kind to people he asked milk and honey dripped from my lips as i answered cause people have not been kind to me the first boy that kissed me held my shoulders down like the handlebars of the first bicycle he ever rode i was five he had the smell of starvation on his lips which he picked up from his father feasting on his mother at 4 a.m. he was the first boy to teach me my body was for giving to those that wanted that i should feel anything less than whole and my god did i feel as empty as his mother at 4:25 a.m. it is your blood in my veins tell me how i’m supposed to forget the therapist places the doll in front of you it is the size of girls your uncles like touching point to where his hands were you point to the spot between its legs the one he fingered out of you like a confession how ’re you feeling you pull the lump in your throat out with your teeth and say fine numb really - midweek sessions he was supposed to be the first male love of your life you still search for him everywhere - father she was a rose in the hands of those who had no intention of keeping her every time you tell your daughter you yell at her out of love you teach her to confuse anger with kindness which seems like a good idea till she grows up to trust men who hurt her cause they look so much like you - to fathers with daughters i’ve had sex she said but i don’t know what making love feels like sex takes the consent of two if one person is lying there not doing anything cause they are not ready or not in the mood or simply don’t want to yet the other is having sex with their body it’s not love it is rape there is no bigger illusion in the world than the idea that a woman will bring dishonor into a home if she tries to keep her heart and her body safe the rape will tear you in half but it will not end you a daughter should not have to beg her father for a relationship trying to convince myself i am allowed to take up space is like writing with my left hand when i was born to use my right - the idea of shrinking is hereditary you tell me to quiet down cause my opinions make me less beautiful but i was not made with a fire in my belly so i could be put out i was not made with a lightness on my tongue so i could be easy to swallow i was made heavy half blade and half silk difficult to forget and not easy for the mind to follow your mother is in the habit of offering more love than you can carry your father is absent you are a war the border between two countries the collateral damage the paradox that joins the two but also splits them apart emptying out of my mother’s belly was my first act of disappearance learning to shrink for a family who likes their daughters invisible was the second the art of being empty is simple believe them when they say you are nothing repeat it to yourself like a wish i am nothing i am nothing i am nothing so often the only reason you know you’re still alive is from the heaving of your chest - the art of being empty you look just like your mother i guess i do carry her tenderness well you both have the same eyes cause we are both exhausted and the hands we share the same wilting fingers but that rage your mother doesn’t wear that anger you’re right this rage is the one thing i get from my father (homage to warsan shire’s inheritance) when my mother opens her mouth to have a conversation at dinner my father shoves the word hush between her lips and tells her to never speak with her mouth full this is how the women in my family learned to live with their mouths closed our knees pried open by cousins and uncles and men our bodies touched by all the wrong people that even in a bed full of safety we are afraid father, you always call to say nothing in particular, you ask what i’m doing or where i am and when the silence stretches like a lifetime between us i scramble to find questions to keep the conversation going, what i long to say most is. i understand this world broke you. it has been so hard on your feet, i don’t blame you for not knowing how to remain soft with me. sometimes i stay up thinking of all the places you are hurting which you’ll never care to mention, i come from the same aching blood, from the same bone so desperate for attention i collapse in on myself, i am your daughter, i know the small talk is the only way you know how to tell me you love me. cause it is the only way i know how to tell you. you plough into me with two fingers and i am mostly shocked, it feels like rubber against an open wound, i do not like it. you begin pushing faster and faster, but i feel nothing, you search my face for a reaction so i begin acting like the naked women in the videos you watch when you think no one’s looking, i imitate their moans, hollow and hungry, you ask if it feels good and i say yes so quickly it sounds rehearsed, but the acting, you do not notice. i can’t tell if my mother is terrified or in love with my father it all looks the same when my mother was pregnant with her second child i was four i pointed at her swollen belly confused at how my mother had gotten so big in such little time my father scooped me in his tree trunk arms and said the closest thing to god on this earth is a woman’s body it’s where life comes from and to have a grown man tell me something so powerful at such a young age changed me to see the entire universe rested at my mother’s feet i struggle so deeply to understand how someone can pour their entire soul blood and energy into someone without wanting anything in return - i will have to wait till i’m a mother every revolution starts and ends with his lips what am i to you he asks i put my hands in his lap and whisper you are every hope i’ve ever had in human form my favorite thing about you is your smell you smell like earth herbs gardens a little more human than the rest of us i know i should crumble for better reasons but have you seen that boy he brings the sun to its knees every night you are the faint line between faith and blindly waiting - letter to my future lover he placed his hands on my mind before reaching for my waist my hips or my lips he didn’t call me beautiful first he called me exquisite - how he touches me he says i am sorry i am not an easy person to want i look at him surprised who said i wanted easy i don’t crave easy i crave goddamn difficult i am ready for you i have always been ready for you - the first time i do not want to have you to fill the empty parts of me i want to be full on my own i want to be so complete i could light a whole city and then i want to have you cause the two of us combined could set it on fire love will come and when love comes love will hold you love will call your name and you will melt sometimes though love will hurt you but love will never mean to love will play no games cause love knows life has been hard enough already he asks me what i do i tell him i work for a small company that makes packaging for— he stops me midsentence no not what you do to pay the bills what drives you crazy what keeps you up at night i tell him i write he asks me to show him something i take the tips of my fingers place them inside his forearm and graze them down his wrist goose bumps rise to the surface i see his mouth clench muscles tighten his eyes pore into mine as though i’m the reason for making them blink i break gaze just as he inches toward me i step back so that’s what you do you command attention my cheeks flush as i smile shyly confessing i can’t help it you might not have been my first love but you were the love that made all the other loves irrelevant you’ve touched me without even touching me you look like you smell of honey and no pain let me have a taste of that your name is the strongest positive and negative connotation in any language it either lights me up or leaves me aching for days you talk too much he whispers into my ear i can think of better ways to use that mouth my name sounds so good french kissing your tongue on days like this i need you to run your fingers through my hair and speak softly -you i want your hands to hold not my hands your lips to kiss not my lips but other places i need someone who knows struggle as well as i do someone willing to hold my feet in their lap on days it is too difficult to stand the type of person who gives exactly what i need before i even know i need it the type of lover who hears me even when i do not speak is the type of understanding i demand - the type of lover i need you move my hand between my legs and whisper make those pretty little fingers dance for me - solo performance we’ve been arguing more than we ought to. about things neither of us remember or care about cause that’s how we avoid the bigger questions, instead of asking why we don’t say i love you to one another as often as we used to. we fight about things like: who was supposed to get up and turn the lights off first, or who was supposed to pop the frozen pizza in the oven after work, taking hits at the most vulnerable parts of one another, we’re like fingers on thorns honey, we know exactly where it hurts. and everything is on the table tonight, like that one time you whispered a name i’m pretty sure wasn’t mine in your sleep, or last week when you said you were working late, so i called work but they said you’d already left a couple hours ago. where were you for those couple hours. i know, i know, your excuses make all the sense in the world, and i get a little carried away for no good reason and eventually begin crying, but what else do you expect baby, i love you so much, i’m sorry i thought you were lying. that’s when you hold your head with your hands in frustration, half begging me to stop, half tired and sick of it. the toxin in our mouths has burnt holes in our cheeks, we look less alive than we used to. less color in our faces, but don’t kid yourself, no matter how bad it gets we both know you still wanna nail me to the ground. especially when i’m screaming so loud our fighting wakes the neighbors, and they come running to the door to save us. baby don’t open it. instead, lie me down, lay me open like a map. and with your finger trace the places you still want to **** out of me. kiss me like i am the center point of gravity and you are falling into me like my soul is the focal point of yours, and when your mouth is kissing not my mouth but other places, my legs will split apart out of habit, and that’s when, i pull you in. welcome you. home. when the entire street is looking out their windows wondering what all the commotion is. and the fire trucks come rolling in to save us but they can’t distinguish whether these flames began with our anger or our passion, i will smile, throw my head back, arch my body like a mountain you want to split in half, baby lick me. like your mouth has the gift of reading and i’m your favorite book, find your favorite page in the soft spot between my legs and read it carefully, fluently, vividly, don’t you dare leave a single word untouched, and i swear my ending will be so good, the last few words will come, running to your mouth, and when you’re done, take a seat, cause it’s my turn to make music with my knees pressed to the ground. sweet baby. this, is how we pull language out of one another with the flick of our tongues, this is how we have the conversation, this, is how we make up. - how we make up L always uui myself tnlu llii^ mess i tilwuys Sc! him lull me i «itil beautiful mil1 hjllf believe il r always jump lliinkm^ lit- wilt catch mu a\ lhe hill l gin hupelussEy a loveranJ a tireuriler and thal will l

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