shared 1 month ago, with 118,770 notes - via / source + reblog


I am a girl with a body that does not always fit me.

It’s hard to tell people that you feel like your thighs owe you something being too big, that you apologize for the ways your hips stick. Nobody has ever seen me any differently, but somehow I don’t think this body is mine. I am a girl with a body like a jigsaw puzzle, with a body I am still trying to fix. I am a girl with a hard body to love.

I am a girl with a body like an accident. I am a girl with a body that feels bloated sometimes, a body that has scars and stretchmarks. I am a girl with an unwanted body. I don’t always get told I’m beautiful; I don’t always think for myself.

Some days, I wake up so tired of this body, so angry at its creaks and moans, hating the ways it falls apart, hating everything, from the cellulite to the burn scars to the acne to the bruises. Some days, I would give anything to leave my body behind, slip it off like the most delicate of silken robes and walk around naked in a way nobody else seems to understand.

It’s hard to live in a body that has never been good enough. I don’t know how to explain myself, other than to say that I’ve been waging a war against my body for too long now. I want to say I’m sorry. I am a girl with a body that needs an apology, with a body that needs healing from all these ways I’ve wounded it. Nobody ever taught me to somehow pick a survivor out of these ashes and tell them to make peace with the killers of their country. It’s hard to live in a body that insists on pulling itself apart, a body that doesn’t know any better. It’s hard to live with this body when it is a universe collapsing.

This is my body — rough, worn, beaten. This is my home, my bed, my graveyard, and I will stand in the ruins I have made of this body and turn it into something to be learned. I will not let my body be a wreckage.

This is my body, scarred and bruised. This is my body, lonely. This is my body, however unwanted. My body —say it with me: my body. Mine, mine, mine.

— This Is My Body | d.a.s (via 18ct)
shared 2 months ago, with 975 notes - via / source + reblog

"Sometimes you just have to jump out the window and grow wings on the way down."
— Ray Bradbury  (via pnko)
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"Don’t you dare
Shrink yourself
For someone else’s comfort -
Do not become small
For people who refuse to grow."
m.v., Advice to my future daughter, #2.  (via pnko)
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"So many students have said, trans students have said; now I can have a point of reference when I talk about who I am. My friends are like, ‘Oh, like Sophia from ‘Orange is the New Black?’’ and they’re like, ‘yeah,’ and then they just move on and it’s not an issue,” she said. “I got a letter from a young, from a trans youth’s mother who said that he transitioned because of me and because of seeing me on the show it gave him the courage to talk to his parents about who he was and they’re supportive and loving and now he’s started his transition. It’s insane. It’s really beautiful."
shared 3 months ago, with 73,684 notes - via / source + reblog

"Yes, poor little old you. There we were, discussing rape, violence against women, systemic oppression and other manifestations of sexism, and you had to jump in to remind us that “not all men” do these things. Why don’t you really say what you want to say? “I HAVE NEVER RAPED/HIT/ASSAULTED A WOMAN!” Right? Isn’t this what you really want to say? Yes, make a discussion that is about the plight of MILLIONS of women about poor little old you. I mean, millions of women are being assaulted and oppressed, but you’ve never done it, so why are we making you uncomfortable with these discussions?"
Brenda Wambui breaking down the ridiculous “Not all men!” phrase over at Medium. Top-notch work. (via itmac)
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"Girls are not machines that you put kindness coins into until sex falls out."
— Porphyria R’lyeh (via mofobian)
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"If I cannot move Heaven, I will raise Hell."
Virgil’s Aeneid, book VII.312  (via littledemonsinmyhead)
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"have you considered that maybe i am not pleasant?

maybe i wear lipstick so that
you will see my pretty pink mouth
wrapping around a coffee cup lid
and be distracted enough not to notice
that i am intelligent and powerful;
a threat.

maybe i draw my brows into high arches
so you will look at my unimpressed skepticism
and overlook my spiteful glare
as a trick of my silly, girlish routine.

maybe i wear my heels so high and thin
so that i grasp your attention with the sway of my hips
as i listen to the click-clack-click against the floor
and know that if you should try to overpower me
i walk on sharpened knives.

maybe when i laugh at your worthless jokes
i am really baring my fangs
waiting patiently for the day
that i sink them into your neck.

i am not made of porcelain pleasantries;
you will find that these things are my armor
to keep you at a distance
so you do not step on me and shatter
my fragile control.

i am not a husk — i am not wilting.
i am turning my head
so that the fire blazing through my eyes
does not catch on the accelerant of your sweaty palms
and burn your bones to dust.

i am not your pretty girl;
i am a fury, a faerie, a phoenix —
a forest of werewolves and wendigos
that will carve out your chest
so that the next time i paint my pretty pink lips
i will taste the copper tang of your dying breaths."
R.K., I Am The Wolf Only Barely Contained (via vodkaquiet)
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Could you write about a boy who means the world to me, but will never feel the same way I do


Could you write about a boy who means the world to me, but will never feel the same way I do

shared 6 months ago, with 1,391 notes - via / source + reblog