Claire Keane
noise dept.
Product Placement
EXPECTATIONS
𓃗
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Jules of Nature
almost home
Cosimo Galluzzi
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
Noah Kahan
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
RMH
The Stonewall Inn
Sweet Seals For You, Always
No title available
No title available
Monterey Bay Aquarium
shark vs the universe
Misplaced Lens Cap
seen from United Kingdom
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seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Slovenia
seen from United States
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
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@welcometogodly
i'm ranting again. I hate hate hate i don't remeber what fully happend to me. it's the fucking worst I'm tired of having to trust my body as it fukcing spasms for the 100th time in one night. I wish I could remember soooo bad every single detail like i do the other shit i went though. this is the one fucking thing that is driving me crazyyy. i'm so fucking annoyed and i'm angry. fuck this stupid fucking boyd for trying to protect me i don't giv e a fuck
He doesn’t want me to remember.
Memory. Remember. Memory. Remembering. Memory. Remembering. He. Remembering. Memory. Want me. Remembering. He doesn’t.
Want me.
My biggest nightmare is being in a room full of pick me filmmakers who reference indie A24 films to show they’re niche & different
“Flesh Irradiation” is an interactive multimedia performance art project started by SUKA OFF in 2014
The Chronology of Water (2025) dir. Kristen Stewart
The Chronology of Water (2025) | dir. Kristen Stewart
oh i'm definitely watching the chronology of water again
i went to therapy today and didn't feel like shit. Fuck this faggot daddy for fucking me when I was young and i blacked out during it. i think but don't remember. i'm everything. he's nothing. I'm more than that traumaaaa bitch. did it affect every bit of me. YES. am i still that kid he fucked. HELL FUCKING NO. I have dreams of killing him. taking the breath out of his lungs. There's only so much peace you can give yourself. this life is cruel. he will live on and get to have his wife and kids BUT SO WILL I. FUCK HIM. I'm not the product of trauma. I'm the story I made after. there's so much power in storytelling. We are not the stories people fuck us into. We are the stories we fuck for ourselves. I fucked my path to where I am now. i fucked life, men, myself. I'm proud of it. Fuck the motherfuckers.
that moment when you're trying to remember what the daddies nudes looked like during the hookup because you're the only one naked right now and getting fingered in a car.
#mynextshortfilm #eighteen #i'mdrunkandthoughtthiswasfunny #idon'thatemyshortfilmrightnow
when I met my younger self at a tree.
i took a knife and sliced his neck. what came out was his blood. innocent. deep red. pouring from his neck. blood replaced air.
8 months later
I imagined my abuser. I stabbed him in the chest. over and over again. I plunged my knife deep into his hollow chest. there’s nothing good inside of him. I saw no blood. I saw no face. What I saw was buried in his chest.
it was my breath
I wish this was the end. Where at the end of the poem you’re better. There’s no more monsters to fight. No more men to get you. Life is so cruel. The man who abused me taught me to fight. He was my taekwondo coach. So now, when faced with him I lay down. I let it consume me. How do I fight when tied to him? I’m forever tied. Forever is ever, and ever is always. Every time I stand up he knocks me right back down. Teaching me another lesson. I hate him. He’s still teaching me 12 years later. Giving up is the only choice I have that feels like my own. Before I dealt with the pain by satisfying and giving myself up to random men.
What is a swimmer to do when water is drained from the pool?
What is a bird to do when its wings get clipped?
What is a fighter to do with no ring?
I’m not trying to be poetic. I just hate everything. Today is just one of those days. I’m going to try to do something to help myself.
I just hate him and I’m trying not to hate myself.
life is cruel.
when I met my younger self at a tree.
i took a knife and sliced his neck. what came out was his blood. innocent. deep red. pouring from his neck. blood replaced air.
8 months later
I imagined my abuser. I stabbed him in the chest. over and over again. I plunged my knife deep into his hollow chest. there’s nothing good inside of him. I saw no blood. I saw no face. What I saw buried in his chest.
was my breath
Mark Rothko - Black no. 8, 1964.
cockcumholesuckingfucking.tumblr.com
Power Station project Saint-Petersburg (Leningrad), Russia Noi Trotsky, 1931
