Instagram Where Iron Meets Poetry
Where Iron Meets Poetry

Stephanie. 25. English Masters Graduate. Looking to gain muscle, strength, and confidence. Ask me about fitness, body image, food; mental health, mental illness, toxic relationships; literature, grammar, Harry Potter; Queer Theory, Gender Studies, Feminism.

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a-zach-on-titan asked: 5, 9, & 49

5. Favourite drink? (Alcoholic and non-alcoholic)

Caesars and rooibos tea (or bubble tea [or homemade smoothies])

9. What are three norms that you absolutely hate?

  1. Sexism
  2. Acting normal boring around people you’ve just met
  3. Failing to speak out against injustices because it’s not cool/fun/polite 

49. What really turns you on?

  • respect (for self and others)
  • intelligence put to good use
  • well-defined calves
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Hm. Yeah.

(Source: c-d-e)

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yusyusyus

(Source: flycandy)

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Be nice lads and lassies? :)
  • 1 What do you regularly do before bed?
  • 2 Who would you say is there for you when you really need them?
  • 3 If given the opportunity, where would you time travel and who would you bring with you on the adventure knowing that you're not going to alter anything in the present?
  • 4 Is there anyone you miss a lot?
  • 5 Favorite drink? (Alcoholic and non-alcoholic)
  • 6 Do you smoke weed or cigarettes?
  • 7 Would you help the last person you called/texted hide a dead body?
  • 8 What would you take as a weapon if you were to go into a building to assassinate a crime lord that killed your family? Would you be discrete or go in and start killing people until you get to him?
  • 9 What are three norms that you absolutely hate?
  • 10 Who are your top three idols?
  • 11 If you could go back to any point and time and do things differently, where would you go and why would you change things?
  • 12 Your Pokemon team consists of six Pokemon, which six Pokemon would you choose to be on your team?
  • 13 You have the opportunity to meet any musician, dead or alive. Who would you meet and why?
  • 14 What was a constant thought that passed your mind today?
  • 15 Are you going to school? What are your classes like/what's your major?
  • 16 Favorite video game?
  • 17 Something you know you shouldn't have done, but did anyway?
  • 18 What is a television show that makes you want to strangle someone?
  • 19 Most fucked up situation you have ever been in?
  • 20 The last time you were hugged and you cried?
  • 21 Who is your favorite character from a film?
  • 22 Is there a film you can watch repeatedly and never get tired of it?
  • 23 Make a list of bands/musicians that you recently started listening to.
  • 24 Do you think you would do well in a zombie apocalypse?
  • 25 If the world was ending and you had two hours before the Earth was destroyed, what would you do?
  • 26 What was your first kiss like?
  • 27 Favorite curse word(s)?
  • 28 Who do you think would visit you if you were in the hospital?
  • 29 What do you think of most when you're falling asleep?
  • 30 If you had to choose between immortality, wealth, or any six concert tickets with the opportunity to go to any of those concerts from any time period, which would you choose?
  • 31 What do you wish you could be doing right now?
  • 32 Who is your favorite person in the world right now?
  • 33 What do you think it would be like to have been born with a tail?
  • 34 Do you like your name?
  • 35 What would you do if two strangers started fighting in a convenience store full of people?
  • 36 What are you looking forward to in the near future?
  • 37 If you had to use three songs to define yourself, which three would you use?
  • 38 HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT CAPITALIZATION LIKE THIS!?
  • 39 How do you feel about humanity?
  • 40 What's the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you?
  • 41 Do you have a Tumblr crush? What would you do if you had the chance to hangout with them?
  • 42 What do you want to do with your life?
  • 43 Which of your friends is the funniest?
  • 44 Where do you go when you feel like shit?
  • 45 What is holding you back from doing something you really want to do?
  • 46 What state do you live in?
  • 47 Would you ever hangout with someone you met on here?
  • 48 When was the last time you got home and actually fell asleep withing ten minutes of making contact with your bed?
  • 49 What really turns you on?
  • 50 What is a memory that you're very fond of?
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filmsinthedarkofdawn:

things I do not care about:

  • Piper Chapman’s storyline.

things I do care about:

  • literally every other storyline on this show.

Yep. After Polly, Piper is the character I care the least for.

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"i.

“Your name is Tasbeeh. Don’t let them call you by anything else.”

My mother speaks to me in Arabic; the command sounds more forceful in her mother tongue, a Libyan dialect that is all sharp edges and hard, guttural sounds. I am seven years old and it has never occurred to me to disobey my mother. Until twelve years old, I would believe God gave her the supernatural ability to tell when I’m lying.

“Don’t let them give you an English nickname,” my mother insists once again, “I didn’t raise amreekan.”

My mother spits out this last word with venom. Amreekan. Americans. It sounds like a curse coming out of her mouth. Eight years in this country and she’s still not convinced she lives here. She wears her headscarf tightly around her neck, wades across the school lawn in long, floor-skimming skirts. Eight years in this country and her tongue refuses to bend and soften for the English language. It embarrasses me, her heavy Arab tongue, wrapping itself so forcefully around the clumsy syllables of English, strangling them out of their meaning.

But she is fierce and fearless. I have never heard her apologize to anyone. She will hold up long grocery lines checking and double-checking the receipt in case they’re trying to cheat us. My humiliation is heavy enough for the both of us. My English is not. Sometimes I step away, so people don’t know we’re together but my dark hair and skin betray me as a member of her tribe.

On my first day of school, my mother presses a kiss to my cheek.

“Your name is Tasbeeh,” she says again, like I’ve forgotten. “Tasbeeh.”

ii.

Roll call is the worst part of my day. After a long list of Brittanys, Jonathans, Ashleys, and Yen-but-call-me-Jens, the teacher rests on my name in silence. She squints. She has never seen this combination of letters strung together in this order before. They are incomprehensible. What is this h doing at the end? Maybe it is a typo.

“Tas…?”

“Tasbeeh,” I mutter, with my hand half up in the air. “Tasbeeh.”

A pause.

“Do you go by anything else?”

“No,” I say. “Just Tasbeeh. Tas-beeh.”

“Tazbee. All right. Alex?”

She moves on before I can correct her. She said it wrong. She said it so wrong. I have never heard my name said so ugly before, like it’s a burden. Her entire face contorts as she says it, like she is expelling a distasteful thing from her mouth. She avoids saying it for the rest of the day, but she has already baptized me with this new name. It is the name everyone knows me by, now, for the next six years I am in elementary school. “Tazbee,” a name with no grace, no meaning, no history; it belongs in no language.

“Tazbee,” says one of the students on the playground, later. “Like Tazmanian Devil?” Everyone laughs. I laugh too. It is funny, if you think about it.

iii.

I do not correct anyone for years. One day, in third grade, a plane flies above our school.

“Your dad up there, Bin Laden?” The voice comes from behind. It is dripping in derision.

“My name is Tazbee,” I say. I said it in this heavy English accent, so he may know who I am. I am American. But when I turn around they are gone.

iv.

I go to middle school far, far away. It is a 30-minute drive from our house. It’s a beautiful set of buildings located a few blocks off the beach. I have never in my life seen so many blond people, so many colored irises. This is a school full of Ashtons and Penelopes, Patricks and Sophias. Beautiful names that belong to beautiful faces. The kind of names that promise a lifetime of social triumph.

I am one of two headscarved girls at this new school. We are assigned the same gym class. We are the only ones in sweatpants and long-sleeved undershirts. We are both dreading roll call. When the gym teacher pauses at my name, I am already red with humiliation.

“How do I say your name?” she asks.

“Tazbee,” I say.

“Can I just call you Tess?”

I want to say yes. Call me Tess. But my mother will know, somehow. She will see it written in my eyes. God will whisper it in her ear. Her disappointment will overwhelm me.

“No,” I say, “Please call me Tazbee.”

I don’t hear her say it for the rest of the year.

v.

My history teacher calls me Tashbah for the entire year. It does not matter how often I correct her, she reverts to that misshapen sneeze of a word. It is the ugliest conglomeration of sounds I have ever heard.

When my mother comes to parents’ night, she corrects her angrily, “Tasbeeh. Her name is Tasbeeh.” My history teacher grimaces. I want the world to swallow me up.

vi.

My college professors don’t even bother. I will only know them for a few months of the year. They smother my name in their mouths. It is a hindrance for their tongues. They hand me papers silently. One of them mumbles it unintelligibly whenever he calls on my hand. Another just calls me “T.”

My name is a burden. My name is a burden. My name is a burden. I am a burden.

vii.

On the radio I hear a story about a tribe in some remote, rural place that has no name for the color blue. They do not know what the color blue is. It has no name so it does not exist. It does not exist because it has no name.

viii.

At the start of a new semester, I walk into a math class. My teacher is blond and blue-eyed. I don’t remember his name. When he comes to mine on the roll call, he takes the requisite pause. I hold my breath.

“How do I pronounce your name?” he asks.

I say, “Just call me Tess.”

“Is that how it’s pronounced?”

I say, “No one’s ever been able to pronounce it.”

“That’s probably because they didn’t want to try,” he said. “What is your name?”

When I say my name, it feels like redemption. I have never said it this way before. Tasbeeh. He repeats it back to me several times until he’s got it. It is difficult for his American tongue. His has none of the strength, none of the force of my mother’s. But he gets it, eventually, and it sounds beautiful. I have never heard it sound so beautiful. I have never felt so deserving of a name. My name feels like a crown.

ix.

“Thank you for my name, mama.”

x.

When the barista asks me my name, sharpie poised above the coffee cup, I tell him: “My name is Tasbeeh. It’s a tough t clinging to a soft a, which melts into a silky ssss, which loosely hugs the b, and the rest of my name is a hard whisper — eeh. Tasbeeh. My name is Tasbeeh. Hold it in your mouth until it becomes a prayer. My name is a valuable undertaking. My name requires your rapt attention. Say my name in one swift note – Tasbeeeeeeeh – sand let the h heat your throat like cinnamon. Tasbeeh. My name is an endeavor. My name is a song. Tasbeeh. It means giving glory to God. Tasbeeh. Wrap your tongue around my name, unravel it with the music of your voice, and give God what he is due"

Tasbeeh Herwees, The Names They Gave Me (via cat-phuong)

I am weeping.

(via strangeasanjles)

(Source: rabbrakha)

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(Source: odyssey2fit)

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(Source: pump-and-burn)

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live-lift-eat-healthy:

Quad Action.

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crossfitters:

Nicole Zapoli by Simply Perfection Photography

(Source: onlyfitgirls)