I want to go camping with you. You and me, in a tent full of pillows and blankets. I want to sit outside in front of a fire and look up at a sky that is being eaten by stars, and kiss away the marshmallow on the corner of your mouth. I want to feel the bite of autumn air everywhere but under the covers, where I feel the safety of your arms and can almost taste the wilderness around us. I want the sun to rise on our little tent and warm it with his rays. I want it to be just us in the night, two sojourners exploring life together. I want to experience the night sounds being exchanged for day sounds, hear the crickets quiet to birdsong — all in the background of your breathing. I want to go camping with you.
I miss writing poetry
…so you may see some more on here.
having anxiety and depression is like being scared and tired at the same time. it’s the fear of failure but no urge to be productive, and it’s wanting friends while hating socializing. it’s like running a marathon with the willpower of a corpse because you want to get to the end but you also want to sleep and evaporate into the soil and become compost for snails and flowers because then at least you’re useful
THIS THIS THIS
The rape joke is that you were eight.
The rape joke is that at the time,
you didn’t know people had sex to express love.
The rape joke is that the only other person
who’d seen you naked was your mom.
The rape joke is that he called you ‘beautiful’ first.
The rape joke is that he held your hands together
and told you to ‘try harder’ when you struggled.
The rape joke is that you believed him
when he told you were overreacting.
The rape joke is that your grandma
called him a nice boy and asked him to stay for dinner.
The rape joke is that he winked at you
when you apologized to your parents for not coming
downstairs the first time you were called.
The rape joke is that his friends
high-fived him for “getting some.”
The rape joke is that you still don’t feel like
you’ve regrown the pieces he stole.
The rape joke is that he was conceived when his
dad slapped himself into his snoring mother.
The rape joke is that her friends told her
she was lucky someone wanted her.
The rape joke is that each year in the United States,
32,000 other women’s bellies
ripen with life against their will.
The rape joke is that he never learned
to touch without scarring.
The rape joke is that your classmate thinks
‘have you seen what asses look like in yoga pants?’
is an argument.
The rape joke is your new boyfriend kissing
you and telling you he ‘raped’ his math test.
The rape joke is that ‘Why are girls so scared of rape? Y’all should feel pride that a guy risked his life in jail just to fuck you’
is a popular Tweet right now.
The rape joke is that you wake up to
the memory of him laughing,
“now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
The rape joke is that it’s been twelve years and
you still quiver when someone touches you.
The rape joke is that he hasn’t stopped laughing.
The rape joke is that you forgot how to.”
20 places that don’t look real (part 2)
11.Mount Roraima-South america
14.Solar du Uyuni-Bolivia
17.Tunnel of love-Ukraine
18.Wisteria flower tunnel-Japan
19.Zhangye Danxia landform-China
20.Zhangya Danxia Landfrom 2-China
i want to live my life in these places
This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals—sounds that say listen to this, it is important.”
— Gary Provost (via jongkey)
Reblog if you are a women who is offended by the lyrics in Blurred Lines
Hey everybody, I’m working on a small project concerning the four Hogwarts houses, and I’d appreciate your help,if you’re willing. Here’s how:
- Please reblog this only if you are a Ravenclaw
- only reblog once, or you’ll throw off the numbers
- also, please do not heart, it’ll throw off the numbers too
- any violations I find will be noted!
- if you are a Gryffindor, please reblog this.
- if you are a Hufflepuff, please reblog this.
- if you are a Slytherin, please reblog this.
Thank you all for your help!
PS: If you’re not sure which house you’re in, pick one!
ATTENTION! “CARRIE” TRIGGER WARNING
So I had the pleasure to see the new Carrie movie tonight and I absolutely loved it.
However I know that a lot of people on tumblr have a few trigger warnings and this movie does have one big one!
There is about 4-6 self harm scenes. Not hinted at, but explicitly showed.
If you’re sensitive to this please take caution when seeing this movie!
Please spread this around so others can be warned!!!
This has been a PSA thank u
I’ve been a massage therapist for many years, now. I know what people look like. People have been undressing for me for a long time. I know what you look like: a glance at you, and I can picture pretty well what you’d look like on my table.
Let’s start here with what nobody looks like: nobody looks like the people in magazines or movies. Not even models. Nobody. Lean people have a kind of rawboned, unfinished look about them that is very appealing. But they don’t have plump round breasts and plump round asses. You have plump round breasts and a plump round ass, you have a plump round belly and plump round thighs as well. That’s how it works. And that’s very appealing too.
Woman have cellulite. All of them. It’s dimply and cute. It’s not a defect. It’s not a health problem. It’s the natural consequence of not consisting of photoshopped pixels, and not having emerged from an airbrush.
Men have silly buttocks. Well, if most of your clients are women, anyway. You come to male buttocks and you say — what, this is it? They’re kind of scrawny and the tissue is jumpy because it’s unpadded; you have to dial back the pressure, or they’ll yelp.
Adults sag. It doesn’t matter how fit they are. Every decade, an adult sags a little more. All of the tissue hangs a little looser. They wrinkle, too. I don’t know who put about the rumor that just old people wrinkle. You start wrinkling when you start sagging, as soon as you’re all grown up, and the process goes its merry way as long as you live. Which is hopefully a long, long time, right?
Everybody on a massage table is beautiful. There are really no exceptions to this rule. At that first long sigh, at that first thought that “I can stop hanging on now, I’m safe” – a luminosity, a glow, begins. Within a few minutes the whole body is radiant with it. It suffuses the room: it suffuses the massage therapist too. People talk about massage therapists being caretakers, and I suppose we are: we like to look after people, and we’re easily moved to tenderness. But to let you in on a secret: I’m in it for the glow.
I’ll tell you what people look like, really: they look like flames. Or like the stars, on a clear night in the wilderness.
This speaks to me. Bodies are amazing: I’m especially fond of the little patches of fat that grow around areas of the body where we have musculoskeletal issues. It’s the body’s way of helping to pad and protect that are. We are so amazingly adaptive. Whatever is happening in our heads, our bodies want us to survive, to function, to grow and prosper.
This is the oldest piece of music known to humankind. It’s engraved in cuneiform on a tablet from 1400 BC. And it was a hymn to their goddess Nikkal.
I wasn’t actually expecting something serious.
I thought Toxic was going to start playing