Strange Ideas & Impure Thoughts

Ares Sun, Gemini Moon, Virgo Rising, and for the fun time Scorpio in Mars | ENFP | witchy womanA place for my half formed thoughs. Partially original content, partially reblogged... stuff.

[thisonesoffwiththefairies]

How the God of Shadow cast his first. • Writing and art created by me • • • • • • #writingcommunity #writersofinstagram #writer #god #godtale #mythos #myth #originalwriting #shadows #stars #aesthetic #staraesthetic https://www.instagram.com/p/CHG3S40FbGr/?igshid=ubh6lzss76ep

[thisonesoffwiththefairies]

Whatever the life game is we’re playing, I feel like I’m losing. https://www.instagram.com/p/B9dJ0txlniY/?igshid=z2wc3y6ma8ra

[thisonesoffwiththefairies]

Sticky • • • • • #metaphor #metaphors #writing #originalwriting #sticky #feeling #thoughts #2amthoughts https://www.instagram.com/p/B9WkJOVF5YL/?igshid=1uuxv8fhvfoeg

[nelaime-deactivated20210509]

by searching_for_heaven_

[thisonesoffwiththefairies]

Broken shards. • • • • • • #writing #writersofinstagram #story #thoughts #thoughts #2amthoughts #love #lover #mind #metaphor https://www.instagram.com/p/B6gzigyl2ud/?igshid=c4vsdtvmbfq9

[thisonesoffwiththefairies]

Daisies in the pockets of my dungarees

Image in my mind ~ @thisonesoffwiththefairies

[thisonesoffwiththefairies]

“I looked over in that moment, and thought you looked like a pretty good mistake to make at the time. After, it was followed up by confusion, near misses, bad vibes, moving on, moving backward, so much coming out of the one chance encounter that shouldn’t have happened. It was, categorically, a bad idea. It cant be classified as anything other than a wrong move. But…. Do you want to do it all again?”

Extract from a bad idea ~@thisonesoffwiththefairies

[thisonesoffwiththefairies]

The moon wishes to show her face

[brontesommerfeld]

[recaption]

[tackled]

[tierras]

and in the evening, there is a feeling...

[thisonesoffwiththefairies]

Ah... the romantic notion of ‘maybe’.

- excerpt from a love letter never to be written

[thisonesoffwiththefairies]

Default thought mechanisms

realising that it isnt /that/ person i want to talk to, even though theyre still on my mind. I want, instead, to talk to someone who is /like/ that person except had the guts to go for it instead of shying away. But, until a person like that is here, i guess youre the closest i have.

[inkskinned]

“Even angry she was beautiful”. Even tired. Even sick. Even one crazy night later. Even with two broken ribs. Even, even, even.

An eye hangs in front of me. Always watching. How silly for me to care about being pretty. But I care about being pretty.

Do men feel like this? Even alone sometimes I catch myself fixing, tidying. I cross windows no one can see in and I worry that someone will see in. I lock the bathroom door and have strange, unlikely thoughts about people who will sneak in and rip the curtain off the rod and see me naked. Sometimes, in the worst moments, I wonder: what if there’s a camera and people are seeing this ugliness.

My mother taught me to plan underwear in such a way that if they found your body you wouldn’t be embarrassed. It seems insane until you watch six seconds of television; where our dead bodies are almost always mostly naked, even beautiful in death. I worry I will die in an unflattering position.

“Who cares what they think?” I ask myself. I don’t even want the attention of men. Dressing for the attention of men on a daily basis is a dangerous thing and isn’t sustainable on the metro system. I want the attention of other women.

But I still look in the mirror and adjust things. I do this and don’t think about men. I wear makeup and it’s not for men. I sit pretty in traffic and it’s not for men. This eye, I guess. The “them”. It never blinks. Maybe I am the one who is watching.

The woman in the comic book has been kidnapped and tortured. We zoom in on her lips. Beautiful. Even then.

[nocte-in-purgatorio]

[thisonesoffwiththefairies]

Would you lie a moment?

Would you look down at me like a snowdrop to the frosted ground?

- extract from a poem I’ll never finish