home
message
archive
random
poetry


i am whiney and pouty today because i dont wanna be at work and theres nothing to do and i want to be home with my dog drinking beer in the sunshine and fffkjkkkkdddd

officialkylieminoguedragqueen:

*climbs on a man like a lizard* *finds suitable spot to rest*

reblogged from: officialkylieminoguedragqueen

“A catcall is entirely about reminding you that you are not yours. The purity myth is entirely about reminding you that you are not yours. The fetishization of female purity in a world where catcalls are an acceptable form of communication telegraphs one thing very clearly: “Women, stop sexualizing yourselves—that’s our job, and you’re taking all the fun out of it.” The sexualization of women is only appealing if it’s nonconsensual. Otherwise it’s “sluttiness,” and sluttiness is agency and agency is threatening.”

— “Female ‘Purity’ is Bullshit”, by Lindy West

(Source: fictional-clue)

reblogged from: bigfatcherrybomb
"To my dismay the world could not be fucked, smoked or snorted — I wished I could skip it along an ocean. It was okay at an acceptable distance. Atoms were beautiful. Stars were beautiful. It was just everything in between. I didn’t feel right. Something shadowy bubbled up in my stomach, pushed down on my chest and whispered “There’s something wrong with you”, something I could never trace to its source. I was meant to be alone. I was a burden. I had to slit my throat."
Benedict Smith, Little Death

(Source: commovente)

"

When I suck red to the surface of your skin,
it reminds me of all the things that I lack.
Your neck becomes an outdated guide of
places I have been before; knocking
on the windowpanes of home but
never really getting
there.

My skin is a kettle, screaming for you,
bubbling and clamouring for relief.

When I think of you on my way home,
I find myself gliding, hovering, dancing-
forgetting my steps and losing balance.

You are a waiting pool full of minnows,
and I am slowly lowering my toes;
begging you not to disperse, begging
you to forget your instinct to jilt away.

At the end of the day we are nothing more
than tangled telephone lines, we are nothing
more than the voices echoing through them
and we are nothing more than
daydreams
waiting to be woken up.

"

Liz Hav, Thankfully (via allofitwasmine)