Gizem Bozkurt on Instagram
Game of Thrones Daily

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Misplaced Lens Cap

Love Begins
dirt enthusiast
Acquired Stardust
Today's Document
Cosmic Funnies
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Stranger Things
we're not kids anymore.
Monterey Bay Aquarium
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

titsay
i don't do bad sauce passes

@theartofmadeline
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shark vs the universe
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
hello vonnie
seen from Singapore
seen from Mexico

seen from Indonesia
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from T1

seen from Bangladesh
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United Kingdom
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@zigzag-zine
Gizem Bozkurt on Instagram
Still life, Hilary Pecis
“Late August — This is the plum season, the nights blue and distended, the moon hazed, this is the season of peaches
with their lush lobed bulbs that glow in the dusk, apples that drop and rot sweetly, their brown skins veined as glands
No more the shrill voices that cried Need Need from the cold pond, bladed and urgent as new grass
Now it is the crickets that say Ripe Ripe slurred in the darkness, while the plums
dripping on the lawn outside our window, burst with a sound like thick syrup muffled and slow
The air is still warm, flesh moves over flesh, there is no
hurry” — Margaret Atwood, Late August
Guadalajara - Jalisco
Mexico, 2010
clippings from “women seeking women” personal ads in the baltimore sun, 1995
commission me! (pls don’t remove caption)
I only want your body, or this city, or everything. To be
where pressure evens itself. To satisfy. Or be what escapes alive and continues to burn.
— Melissa Leigh Gore, from “Drinking with Bernoulli in Wicker Park,” published in Glass
by Kei IMAZU - “Goddess of Theater ”
wish u were here
H a p p y P r i d e !
Issue 5: WARMTH
It’s the golden hour. The sun kisses our fingertips. The sun, about to sink over the horizon, lingers awhile to watch us glow. Every smile, every angle gleams. In a world full of darkness, we are the light. The heat is radiating, and we are radiant. It’s our time now.
check out our submission guidelines and submit to [email protected]
Submissions are open until August 31st!
Is there a set deadline for the zine? I didn't see one on the submission call.
August 31st!
To be, he said, an American, is to find you have lived your whole small life on the back of some starving and saber-toothed creature that has, all the while, been killing and killing and killing. No wonder we do so much drinking.
Natalie Shapero, “Were You Lying Then or Are You Lying Now,” from Hard Child (via agooduniverse)
ink studies of my Amsterdam trip in July ´18
Clariana, Female Landscapes (by Laura V-A)
The blood moon is framed by the statues of Hera and Apollo in Athens, 27 July 2018 (x)
I get through the day by telling myself that healed scars are better than open wounds.
There is a fire inside me I hope never goes out, because I want it to burn everything to ash. I want to swallow the whole world into darkness. I want quiet, peaceful nights in the safety of my shadow.
You will learn to touch me gently, and call it holy communion. Because you see, I am the woman lion and I will eat you alive.
Medusa is my mother. I was born cut from the strength of her love for the sky, a gauzy cloth full of endless blue silk and deep red sunsets. I was born to inherit her tender, delicate madness.
There is blood drenching my thighs, soft and wet in the low light. Whatever bleeds within my chest begs soft cotton, anything to stop the flow for just a moment.
After some time living like this, my chest becomes full of its soft, stained whiteness. It fills my throat and prevents me from speaking, or singing, or breathing. I forget what it is to laugh. I am too busy bleeding to think of anything else.
The light brightens, something consuming and unbearable approaches cloaked in pale skin and light eyes, blue eyes like the threat of storm clouds cupping the sea. Luminescent and horrific. Brighter by the minute.
The last thing I see before I close my eyes is a grinning mouth full of sharp teeth.
I was so soft and wet in the low light with you. So vulnerable. So easy to use. The world brightens unbearably again. My chest rises gently, safe in my own bed, her comforting warmth beside me fast asleep. Yet I can still feel pale hands on my body. Pale hands on my body. Pale hands on my–
I stop breathing for a second, chest still and silent. Whatever bleeds within me begs attention, a scream or a shriek, loud and dark in the bright. A desperate plea for recognition.
Please, know me well enough to find me. I cannot see for the blinding light that keeps me here.
You were so soft and wet.
My wet thighs are stained red, isn’t it just gruesome? The extent of my pain? I feel it in a distant way, detached from everything that I am.
I feel you enjoying it.
//
This is the shit I scribble at three in the afternoon. I started taking sleeping pills because of you. I stopped myself two nights in, and told myself I needed to sleep by myself if I was ever going to heal.
I sleep soundly at night until nightmares overtake me. You finding me, you inside me, you knowing my heart or my soul. These things are mine and they belong to me.
I do not wish for you to know who I have become, or who I am growing into, however strange or lopsided I might be. I am proud of myself.
There is no place for you here.
This thing you are should terrify you.
I never knew you could be so cruel, but I am the woman lion and I will tear your bones from your flesh, one by one. Every bleached, marrow-less bone of your body.
I am the woman lion, and I will eat you alive.
A woman’s strength is her righteous fury, and god help anyone who gets in her way, because she’s going to take the whole damn world for herself,
and there’s not a single thing you can do about it.
–WOMAN LION: The Careful Evolution Of Girl Once Broken