EMMA

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[thekine-deactivated20181010]

[momirratos]

[evanidus-deactivated20151018]

I don’t know much about love. I know that five years ago a boy held onto me so tight that my bones started snapping and he told me that was love. He told me that the way his hands bruised and marked and took was what love really was and that I better get rid of my daydreams of tenderness because no one would ever care enough about my flesh to watch before they marked it. He told me that no one cared if some marks don’t fade. I don’t know much about love. I know I swallowed it and spat it out in the face of a boy who’s eyes made me feel sick to my stomach, who’s soul was so cold I was never warm no matter how many layers I wore. He was always pulling them off even when I pulled away, even when I told him I was cold and tired and a little bit scared because I was losing bits and pieces of myself everywhere and no wasn’t a good enough answer and I was always covering up but never felt quite secure because though he promised his hands were kind they took things I told him not to take and left bruises I begged him not to leave. I don’t know much about love. I know that nothing will ever fit quite right inside of this body, I know there is too much of inspiration mixed with too much of despair and they fight back and forth across the valleys of my abdomen. There is an overflow of “oh god no please stop let me die let me not exist let me be anywhere anyone else stop it stop it stop it.” And a lack of “this is the most amazing day the most amazing moment I don’t want to leave let me stay let me stay let me stay.” I know that my stomach will never be flat enough that somehow I could learn to cope with the blows that it took. I know that I can never look at my wrist the same. I know I can never stand naked without knowing who else has seen me like this but didn’t care and didn’t see a scared cold girl but saw a piece of meat and licked their lips and came at me with sharp teeth and flashing eyes. I don’t know much about love. But I know I wake up in the morning and my sunrise holds her inside of it. I know that plane rides could bring me home and that is the scariest and most miraculous feeling. I know that she is tenderness and kindness and empathy personified. That I have never met anyone with a softer smile, with the brightest eyes. Someone so like the sun she brightens my entire world and maybe just maybe it could just be the lighting but the handprints across my flesh don’t seem as deep, as permanent. I don’t know much about love. But I know a lot about loving. Truly deeply and fiercely. Gravity pales in comparison to how I feel when she says my name. I don’t know much about love. But I know I love her.

I don’t know much about love// C.C (via queerestqueen)

[mandisore]

[bluemavor]

[f-r-u-s-t-a-t-e-d]

[howlin-g]

[tastefullyoffensive]

[rispostesenzadomanda]

Dogs are melting again

(via bunnyfood:tastefullyoffensive:mister-plow)

[jeffrey-lebowski]

(via Tumbling)

[jentehj]

Lost In Translation // Alt-J, Breezeblocks

[just-peachy-keeen]

[remembering-irrelevance]

[elbeeaz]

[noquitter-deactivated20231102]

this won’t get 1% of the women’s version of this post. 

the world we live in, and people in general don’t care about men. we are pretty much robots who aren’t allowed to show emotion. we’re taught from a young age that boys don’t cry. 

fact is women are sexualised, men are idealised. because men can’t be raped because they’re big and strong right? right? yea, pretty much the idiots view of living. 

[thezealotsblindfold]

[moonlyaffairs]

Two years later A girl sits in front of her ex lover. He doesn’t say a word And her heart doesn’t ache for him anymore. Her hair is longer than it’s ever been. She is even more beautiful than the day he left her. And at that moment, He panics. He lost her. And he can never have her back. He can just watch her be beautiful And in love With someone else.

Zienab Hamdan - The day when the tables turn (via moonlyaffairs)

[a-laa-mode]

I am 16. I’m dancing to my favorite pop song at my friends birthday party when a boy whose name I do not even know comes over and slaps my ass. My face flushes with redness and I sit down for the rest of the night avoiding the eyes of everyone in the room. Later, I ask him why he thought it was okay to invade my body without my consent. He says it was a joke. I don’t laugh. I am 12. Every girl in my grade is dragged to the school’s auditorium, where we are told that ‘dressing like sluts’ in ninety degree will not be tolerated, and that we will get two detentions if anyone finds our clothing distracting.  Later, I find out that, while we were being lectured on our own bodies, all of the boys stayed in their homerooms and watched a movie, because ‘It’s natural for boys to get aroused, the girls are the ones that have to cover up, they’re causing a problem and taking away from the education of others.’  I don’t understand any of it. I am 7.  I stand up at bat in gym class and blatantly miss the hollow plastic ball that is thrown in my direction. The whole class bursts out laughing. ‘You hit like a girl,’ one of the boys hollers to me. Later, I ask my female gym teacher why hitting ‘like a girl’ is a bad thing. She smiles at me sympathetically as she says ‘Honey, it just is.’ I don’t smile back. I am a girl, and since the day I was born, my gender has become synonymous to weakness, incapability, and inadequacy.

And that isn’t fucking okay. (via laamode)

[bikesandtattoos]

[h-eartblack]

[depressed-but-w3ll-dr3ssed]

sad blog for sad teens