Her backbone is a plum

Feminist. Poetry reader. Tea lover. Witty banter enthusiast.

ipecrack:

she feels ugly
split legs behind a tired belly
scarred up breasts on dirty beds
face bed-planted
as if flowers would begin to grow between her teeth
if she just tries hard enough to think herself
away

“Darling, when you reach the age of 20 you will cry. But this is not a cry of happiness or aging. This is a cry of regret. Darling, when you reach the age of 20 you will find out what went wrong. You will know your mistakes and you wouldn’t give a damn. When you reach the age of 20, you’ll cry more. You won’t be able to sleep. You will struggle at 2am. You will open the fridge and see nothing but instant food. There’s instant noodle. You’ll see that everything is frozen. Not just in your fridge. Time is frozen but you will feel that your running out of it. You’ll blame your Mama for not forcing you to sleep. Believe me. You will want to slap your old self because you won’t sleep. Now you’re 20 and sleep deprived. Darling, he is still the one. Yes that’s right. The boy with dirty hair and noisy music, he will grow up and be a man. You will love him. You will kill for him. You will die for him. He will do the same for you. When you reach the age of 20, you will let him fuck you. He will not take it like a thief. You will hand it to him like Cadbury. He will not hesitate. He will take it and you will cry. You’ll scream because it hurts but this is not the kind of hurt you’re thinking. It won’t be like bruise kind of pain. It’s not going to be mild. It will be agonizing. It will feel like fire but you won’t get burned. You won’t turn to ash. You will be enclosed in a furnace. When you reach the age of 20, you’ll be fucked. Yes, you will be. You will moan. You will let him eat you alive. You will beg for every swallow and tongue movements. Darling, when you reach the age of 20 you will dream of being 17. you will miss being called a teenager. You will long for innocence. You will trade anything just to play with wildflowers again. When you reach the age of 20, you will run. It will be an escape kind of run. It will be a please-don’t-talk-to-me kind of run. You will tell people this: pretend you don’t know me. It will feel good. No. It will feel enough. When you reach the age of 20, you will remember everything and remembering isn’t always good. You will remember every laughter you’ve had but you will forget who you were laughing with. You will remember every pain and it would all be worth it. You will remember that every past was a broken glass and somehow, you will still allow yourself to touch it and bleed. You will remember that it’s always too late or it’s never too soon. Darling, when you reach the age of 20, you will be happy. Believe me. I know this because I am you and you are me.”

—   irishjulienne, dear teenage-self: this is what happens when you reach the age of twenty (via talkingoutsoft)

(via talkingoutsoft)

“Fuckity bye.”

—   Sylvia Plath (via incorrectsylviaplathquotes)

croutoncat:

people who randomly decide to compliment you are so important

(via veritatem-amore-et-iustitia)

findsomethingtofightfor:

#these two run a country

(Source: quinnelsa, via fuckyeahhayleywilliams)


Hayao Miyazaki…

torace:

torace:

sweetpeche:

reblog for easter

this kills me I can’t stop watching it

1 man.. 1 lord 1 faith 1 baptism, 2 nunchucks

(Source: videohall, via penitrale)

africant:

same.

africant:

same.

(Source: sandandglass, via ruinedchildhood)

huskyway:

*Peggy voice* “Hoo yeah!”

huskyway:

*Peggy voice* “Hoo yeah!”

(Source: thisiselliz, via veritatem-amore-et-iustitia)

seienna:

sophisticated-ignoranceee:

I’ve been waiting so long to find this.

I’M CRYING

(Source: randallfthegrey, via thewhiteknightlancelot)