April 22nd, 2014
April 21st, 2014
words-of-emotion:

Words of emotion

words-of-emotion:

Words of emotion

April 20th, 2014
he’s going to fuck you up and you’re going to let him
most sober thing a drunk person could ever say to you (via n-nni)

(Source: w-r-i-st-s, via beautifully-fxcked)

I know girls who are trying to fit into the social norm
Like squeezing into last year’s prom dress
I know girls who are low-rise, MAC eyeshadow, and binge drinking
I know girls that wonder if they’re disaster and sexy enough to fit in
I know girls who are fleeing bombs from the mosques of their skin
Playing Russian roulette with death
It’s never easy to accept that our bodies are fallible and flawed
But when do we draw the line?
When the knife hits the skin?
Isn’t it the same thing as purging?
Because we’re so obsessed with death
Some women just have more guts than others
The funny thing is women like us don’t shoot
We swallow pills, still wanting to be beautiful at the morgue
Still proceeding to put on make-up
Still hoping that the mortician finds us fuckable and attractive
We might as well be buried with our shoes
And handbags and scarves, girls
We flirt with death every time we etch a new tally mark into our skin
I know how to split my wrists to reveal a battlefield too
But the time has come for us to
Reclaim our bodies
Our bodies deserve more than to be war-torn and collateral
Offering this fuckdom as a pathetic means to say
“I only know how to exist when I’m wanted”

Girls like us are hardly ever wanted you know
We’re used up and sad and drunk and
Perpetually waiting by the phone for someone to pick up
And tell us that we did good
You did good.

So try this
Take your hands over your bumpy lovebody naked
And remember the first time you touched someone
With the sole purpose of learning all of them
Touched them because the light was pretty on them
And the dust in the sunlight danced the way your heart did
Touch yourself with a purpose
Your body is the most beautiful royal
Fathers and uncles are not claiming your knife anymore
Are not your razor, no
Put the sharpness back
Lay your hands flat and feel the surface of scarred skin


I once touched a tree with charred limbs
The stump was still breathing
But the tops were just ashy remains
I wonder what it’s like to come back from that
Sometimes I feel a forest fire erupting from my wrists
And the smoke signals sent out are the most beautiful things
I’ve ever seen


Love your body the way your mother loved your baby feet
And brother, arm wrapping shoulders, and remember
This is important
You are worth more than who you fuck
You are worth more than a waistline
You are worth more than any naked body could proclaim
In the shadows, more than a man’s whim
Or your father’s mistake
You are no less valuable as a size 16, than a size 4
You are no less valuable as a 32A than a 36C
Your sexiness is defined by concentric circles within your wood
Wisdom
You are a goddamn tree stump with leaves sprouting out
Reborn

I Know Girls (Body Love) - Mary Lambert (via sadnina)

(Source: bravegirlliving)

chanel-smokes:

"fuck your morals
drink away your sorrows
live your life and be happy
dont think about tomorrow
its all about you”

chanel-smokes:

"fuck your morals

drink away your sorrows

live your life and be happy

dont think about tomorrow

its all about you”

(Source: apeaceofwork, via safeslut)

d-eauxis:

7impossible-things:

diary-of-a-dead-fuckup:

In the top left corner you have depression, isolating you from humanity, telling you you’re worthless and making you feel vulnerable.
Next to her is anorexia. Skinny and evil, she is made of bones and tells you not to eat.
At the fridge is bulimia/binge eating disorder. Binging and possibly purging, she makes you feel gross from all you ate.
In the bottom left is anxiety/suicidal tendencies. Alone, scared and helpless she turns to drugs to end your pain…either for a little while or forever.
At the right of the table you have self harm. Constantly whispering, providing “relief” and telling you it’ll all be okay. If you cut deeper. Evilly enticing you until the pain stops.
In the middle, is yourself. The only one with human eyes. Surrounded by your demons.

Can we just. Please.

Omg

d-eauxis:

7impossible-things:

diary-of-a-dead-fuckup:

In the top left corner you have depression, isolating you from humanity, telling you you’re worthless and making you feel vulnerable.

Next to her is anorexia. Skinny and evil, she is made of bones and tells you not to eat.

At the fridge is bulimia/binge eating disorder. Binging and possibly purging, she makes you feel gross from all you ate.

In the bottom left is anxiety/suicidal tendencies. Alone, scared and helpless she turns to drugs to end your pain…either for a little while or forever.

At the right of the table you have self harm. Constantly whispering, providing “relief” and telling you it’ll all be okay. If you cut deeper. Evilly enticing you until the pain stops.

In the middle, is yourself. The only one with human eyes. Surrounded by your demons.

Can we just. Please.

Omg

(via secrets-written-in-my-skin)

April 18th, 2014
April 17th, 2014
April 16th, 2014
April 14th, 2014

(via oppulxnce)