Discover Top Posts Tagged with #bloedkoraal

dear moon, if it’s not too personal: could you make a look for a person you carry close to your heart, a relative or a friend, without disclosing who this person is? your creations move me always, and i wonder if you’ll compose differently with a loved one in mind 💕

always the gamine-

{top left} dancewear-like layers

prada deconstructed grey mid-length flared skirt, s/s 2oo1

lemaire beige souris classic 55 heels

nina ricci "coeur joie" eau de parfum (c. 1946), flacon corsetière "4 hearts" created by marc lalique

lewis purses of new york and los angeles white leather handbag, c. 196o's

#thank you love !#outfit #ask #bloedkoraal #it's not awfully different from the others i guess^^'#<33 #queue

Dear Dante. I don't know if you're familiar with this poem, but I think you'll adore it. It somewhat reminds me of your work. Devoted and honest. A long raging love letter.

oh man im so full of emotion i almost started crying on the train. its so beautiful thank you

#ask #bloedkoraal

Happy birthday! I hope a loved one is baking you cupcakes, each one with an imagine of Will Graham’s bleeding face on it, printed on edible paper. 🥰

That is gonna be my next year’s request fr that sound appetizing

#alex answers #bloedkoraal

I guessed Virgo moon, because your posts are very well curated and the fragments you share are always precise, observant and sharp-witted. 🌿

this makes me very happy… you have no idea. how observant of you (!!) ♡ i do have a knack for ‘perfectionism’ which often doesn’t satisfy me & i end up feeling messy still.

#a tenderness beyond death #💌#bloedkoraal #astrology talk

10, 13, 24 🌿

Hii lovely !! Thank you so much for asking me!!!! <33

10. a poem that reminds you of yourself “Maybe my mother cut the God out of me when I was two in my playpen. Is it too late, is it too late to open the incision and plant Him there again? All is wilderness. All is hay that died from too much rain, my stinky tears. Whose God are you looking for? asked the priest. I replied: a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.” — Incision by Anne Sexton “A story, a story! (Let it go. Let it come.) I was stamped out like a Plymouth fender into this world. First came the cribwith it’s glacial bars. Then dollsand the devotion to their plastic mouths. Then there was school, the little straight rows of chairs, blotting my name over and over, but undersea all the time, a stranger whose elbows wouldn’t work. Then there was lifewith it’s cruel houses and people who seldom touched – though touch is all –but I grew, like a pig i n a trenchcoat I grew, and then there were many strange apparitions, the nagging rain, the sun turning into poison and all of that, saws working through my heart, but I grew, I grew, and God was there like an island I had not rowed to, still ignorant of Him, my arms and my legs worked, and I grew, I grew, I wore rubies and bought tomatoes and now, in my middle age, about nineteen in the head I’d say, I am rowing, I am rowing though the oarlocks stick and are rusty and the sea blinks and rolls like a worried eyeball, but I am rowing, I am rowing, though the wind pushes me back and I know that that island will not be perfect, it will have the flaws of life, the absurdities of the dinner table, but there will be a door and I will open it and I will get rid of the rat inside of me, the gnawing pestilential rat. God will take it with his two hands and embrace it.” — Rowing by Anne Sexton

13. a poem that makes you ache