random things i may want to see again

[vegaschapters]

let’s talk about girls, shall we? girls, not women, through our own uncensored eyes. the parts where we aren’t girls but gods, howling like animals, reading greek mythology out loud, muffled by the water we try to drown ourselves in. the stories where we don’t come out looking good, where we try out witchcraft and watch true crime and twin peaks and project our stories unto murdered girls and female horror movie villains.  the years where meals are long forgotten and we have a cocktail of coloured pills sliding around at the bottom of our purses and we drink maybe everyday but we’re not alcoholics, we’re just the bright young things, and nobody knows the meaning of normality anymore.  let’s talk about the parts where we underline sylvia plath and perform for invisible audiences and sleep around because we’re hollow and we’re told this is empowerment. we think animals can hear us because we feel a kinship with them.  when we keep our baby teeth and jump into oceans fully clothed and lie down in the middle of the road when it gets dark or walk around in our nightgowns, illuminated by street lamps at 4 am, even though we know what happens to girls who walk alone.  the months we spend in hospitals, the times we wake up with iv’s in our arms and swear it was all an accident and a one time thing. the days where we don’t speak at all, forget who we are or don’t feel real or human at all. the girls who love girls and feel dirty underneath their skin. the girls who die from pure, unhinged, unwanted womanhood. the times before we’re women but get treated that way anyway. the things that never really go away.  let’s talk about it for once. 

[kanelienkeli-blog]

“at five years old you know what the word means. it’s dirty, it’s bad, you’re too young to know. other kids use it as a curse word when adults can’t hear them. when you’re nine, two women move in across the street. one of them has a shaved head. you’re sitting at the dinner table when your neighbour’s father uses the word “dyke” with a lowered voice. you’re eleven and a new girl has joined your theatre group. you want to be around her all the time. a year later she leaves and you feel disappointed and sad without really knowing why. at fifteen you’re at a church camp and a girl asks the priest why gay people can’t get married. he says: “we have to draw the line somewhere. some people would like to marry animals.” six months later you’re looking at a friend of yours with butterflies in your stomach, and all of a sudden it just hits you. you have a crush on her. you have a crush on a girl. at sixteen you try to say the word. you say to yourself: “i’m a lesbian.” you feel dirty and cry in the bathroom two hours later. at seventeen you hold hands with a boy. he says to you: “you don’t want to be with girls like that.” he touches your cheek but it feels wrong. when you’re eighteen you fall in love with a girl who has pale blue eyes and the most beautiful laugh. she calls you an angel but a year later she introduces you to her boyfriend at a house party. you want to cry but you can’t. at nineteen you try to say the word again. it still gets stuck in your throat but you do it anyway. you tell your friends and they say they are proud of you. and you cry, not because you feel dirty, but because you feel okay.”

— the word “lesbian” has always been something people spit out in disgust

[spnyuri]

tbh life’s too short to be embarrassed by little things ??? wear that outfit ur mom said was ugly & laugh ur natural too loud laugh & talk to intimidating people u find interesting !!! join cringy clubs & read books everyone hates & wear too much eyeliner !!! if shit doesn’t work out who cares !!! people who are worth being around will stick by u anyway !!!

[traced-veins]

[je-suis-un-enfant-de-la-lune]

And crazy thing is, I’d definitely like to spend every single breathing moment with you. Even when we’re asleep, I want to lay there, right next to you in bed and hold you in my arms, meet you in my dreams even though you’re laying with me. I want to wake up in the middle of the night and see you there, then pull you close to me and fall asleep again.

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write.

[quotemadness]

“I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond the daily life.”

— Virginia Woolf

[monsieurphantom]

Pride and Prejudice (2005) dir. Joe Wright

[badbuddhism]

One of the questions we are all likely to ask ourselves in our lifetime, is “what is the point of my life?” Or “what is my purpose?”

We feel we must justify our existence to ourselves or to society at large. Who told you you need a purpose or a point? Your parents? Your teachers? The media? The government? Simply your own mind? Whoever told you that was lying. Why do you need a purpose in life or a final destination “point”? Simply existing is the point, and I don’t mean that in the way that one who is depressed may say they are “simply existing”, I mean to say that no matter what you do you are fulfilling your reason to exist. To have no ultimate purpose is a very liberating thing! Because it means you are here simply to experience being you.

When the moon reflects on the ocean its image serves no purpose to either the moon or the ocean; but it doesn’t need to. It just is.

[cameronbeyrent]

“I just feel like heaven and hell are a place that’s inside each of us and we’re the ones who choose which one to explore. I mean, like, you know, I think you have to have both to have an understanding of why they exist. Shit wouldn’t be balanced if we didn’t have hell. I don’t think you’d be able to appreciate how amazing it feels to sit on a rooftop with all your friends as you’re watching the sunset listening to your favorite Lorde song if you didn’t want to kill yourself sometimes. You know and I think we’re all like, you know, a step away from both. I feel like both universes are so near to us. I don’t really think that heaven is all the way up at the top of whatever all of this is, and that hell is all the way down at the bottom. I think it’s all right here in front of us. I think they layer onto our realities like filters on an Instagram image. We see our lives through heaven and hell, and I think we always have a say in which one we can choose. You know because, even when your life is dog shit, heaven is just as close as it was before. You don’t really get further away from it, you just lose the ability to take notice of it, I guess. But I know how you feel, man. I feel like God is really quiet sometimes in my stupid life. But I still know that it’s all still right there in front of my face. It’s not really a matter of looking or searching, it’s a matter of seeing things for what they are. It’s all so much closer to you than you think it is. It’s all just a breath away.”

— CAMERON BEYRENT

[m-lemann]

my dream looks exactly like that

[selfharminlit]

You will suck in your stomach and in doing so absolve the          bulge of your flesh. You will grind your teeth until the metal cuts the inside          of your mouth. You will dream of being a girl’s body turned to air.          You will cut little lines into yourself at twelve. You will write on your body          with nails, make carvings on yourself at eight and call it practice, but          not know what you’re practicing for. You will develop a fear of needles, and          even now you can’t hold a certain type of knife without shaking.

— Brynne Rebele-Henry, from “Aubade for a marble child,” Autobiography of a Wound

[selfharminlit]

I learned about the magic of bleeding the time I fell down          and skinned a bulb of flesh out of myself. Still have small woundmarks etched into          my body. A hand- length slash on my belly, small nubby silvers on my wrists          and breasts, a crescent on my collarbone, a bitemark on my inner thigh that never          healed, spackle marks on my legs and feet, patches on my knees. A few years later          I’ll be wearing white silk pants and find them soaked red: salvation, and not. Wild          animals will chew their limbs off when trapped, but I settled for drawing          sewing needles through the pads of my fingers, writing letters on the insides of my          legs with bruises.

— Brynne Rebele-Henry, from “Female fertility figure, bone, carved, B.C.,” Autobiography of a Wound

[selfharminlit]

At thirteen we’d all flirt with death. Spend hours absorbed in         our veins, or watching her slice little parts of her fingers open, then, later,         small parts of her wrists. I learned how to take my clothes off without         shaking hands, how to swallow vodka so it burns, how to claw the insides of         my thighs underneath the table. At night, as the train passes through         and shakes her house, we watch the scars glisten on our half-naked bodies.         When two dead girls love each other, it’s a funeral, the kind you can’t         resurrect, where no one grows wings of fire or gets drunk in the back of a truck,         where you bring razors and ointment to anoint each other with.

— Brynne Rebele-Henry, from “Aubade for a dying girl,” Autobiography of a Wound

[flowerais-deactivated20211031]

the sad thing is, everyone thinks they’re so forgettable, or they don’t mean anything to anyone. but you don’t see your high school friend, smiling to themselves, when they think about your quirks or how dramatic you used to be whenever you got a crush. you don’t see the person who saw you around a lot but was always too shy to talk to you. you don’t remember the person you helped, and maybe you didn’t do much for them, but you didn’t know that they were having a shitty month and you sparked their first real smile in weeks. you don’t see the person that secretly loved you too, who never forgot the soft words that you said, or the way you smiled whenever you saw them, or how you reminded them of sunshine and flowers; and how the thought of you pops into their mind more than you will ever know and in the randomest of places. you will never know that a soft song or strawberries or a sunset will remind someone of you. they will go to the beach and think of you for some reason, until they remember that the last time they saw a color as beautiful and as profound as the ocean was when they looked in your eyes. no one knows their impact on people, or their worth. no one thinks they will be missed when they leave, but they don’t know that once you go into someone’s life, even for a fleeting moment, you stay forever, and you take up a soft place that no one else could ever replace.

[rosespell]

[sunsetico-deactivated20250705]

“I’m a sad music person. I steal flowers instead of clothes but still manage to get into trouble because of it. I’m also a sunset person, a starry night person, a philosophical talk at 2a.m. with my dad after he picks me up from a party. I don’t trust myself a lot of times so don’t expect me to trust others. I’m a ‘save everything just in case I’ll need in the future’ person, I’m the pep talk giver and hate to be in the receiver’s position. I’m a ‘cry in the bathroom whilst watching my tears drip in the mirror’ person. I’m sarcastic if you notice my words, moral and most inspired at nighttime. I’m still sorting out who I am and who I want to be. I’m lost but I can be found. I’m the light at the end of the tunnel.”

—

identity.

[somepiecesofmyheartandsoul-deac]

“I may not look like much, nor do I have a lot to offer but at least, you will learn to remember me for a very, very long time once you have experienced me.”

— Lukas W. // Coffee thoughts #129 (via somepiecesofmyheartandsoul)