Hatefuck // The Bravery
If I put my hands around your wrists, would you fight them? If I put my fingers in your mouth, would you bite them? So many things that I would do if I had my way with you.
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Hatefuck // The Bravery
If I put my hands around your wrists, would you fight them? If I put my fingers in your mouth, would you bite them? So many things that I would do if I had my way with you.
me: *just chilin*
brain: hey guess what
me: what
brain: sudden overwhelming sadness, that's what
me:
me, softly: come on, man
by studioreko http://ift.tt/25vmI7h
friendly reminder that just because your mom birthed you doesnt mean you have to honor her on mother’s day. plenty of animals give birth then proceed to eat their children. that doesnt make them mothers and your mom abusing you doesnt make them mothers either.
We are taught from the moment we leave our pink nurseries we are collapsible paper dolls: light to hold, easier to crumple. That as women, our worth lives secretly wrapped in lace and cotton panties, our fragility armored in pepper spray and mace. They say one in three women will be raped or sexually abused in their lifetime. I am one of three daughters. Imagine each victim is an acrobat. Her sanity, a balancing act. Our response is the unfailing safety net. We never expect to see her across the wire. You weren’t just violated, we tell her, you are an empty museum, a gutted monument to what used to hold so much worth. With best intentions we tell her to reclaim it, put a price tag on her rape and own it. Don’t stand too tall, don’t act too strong. We will name you denial. Come back when you are ready to crumble like your bones are made of chalk. You can only laugh cutely or cry beautifully, so cry beautifully. We will catch you. We are calling it theft, as if he could pluck open your ribs like cello strings, pocket your breasts, steal what makes your heart flutter and tack its wings to his wall. Some days you will feel dirty. Some weeks you’ll remember how hard it is to breathe in public, like your heartbeat is climbing to the attic of your throat, only to suicide itself on the pavement. But know this: the person who did this to you is broken. Not you. The person who did this to you is out there, choking on the glass of their chest. It is a windshield and his heartbeat is a baseball bat: regret this, regret this. Nothing was stolen from you. Your body is not a hand-me-down. And there is nothing that sits inside you holding your worth, no locket that can be seen or touched, fucked from your stomach to be left on the concrete. And I know it’s hard to feel perfect when you can’t tell an Adam’s apple from a fist. Some ashtray of a man picked you to play his Eden but I will not watch you collapse.
sierra demulder | paper dolls (via goldfyshie927)
I’m here for girls who don’t have socially acceptable reactions to their own abuse and mistreatment. I’m here for the girls who feel overwhelmed with shame and guilt, who have become bitter and hostile, who are defensive, who are unforgiving of their abusers and other people who try to hurt them.
Healing and recovery take time. Please be patient and gentle with yourself.
“he touched the butt”
*calls you dude and babe in the same sentence*
Lets pretend i'm attractive and then You won't mind, you can twist for a while, It's the night, i can be who you like, And i'll quietly leave before it gets light.. You twist and whisper the wrong name, I don't care and nor do my ears. Twist yourself around me.. I need company, i need human heat. I need human heat.
I’m allowed to be angry about what happened. I am allowed to be angry about what you did.
when people casually mention something you’re completely obsessed with and it takes every fuckin ounce of your self control not to propel yourself into the stars and scream for the rest of eternity about how much you love the thing
shoutout to the survivors who are not forgiving, who do not believe that what happened to them was ‘for a reason’, who know they did not deserve it, who are angry at what happened to them, and who do not show the typical ‘good victim’ trope. You all get so much shit from people about how you should act from your trauma because only ‘good victims’ are deserving of empathy and support. You deserve so much more than that.