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prettydressesinthelaundry:

 
Apr 21, 2014 / 1,927 notes
winterfellis:

IMG_7178 by Dósa Andrei on Flickr.
Apr 21, 2014 / 162 notes
As women, we are taught to be tiny. To have small bodies, to never be imposing. The ideal of our gender are thin and childlike, hairless and dainty. We are defined by our bodies; defined by our control over them. We are taught to obsess over our physicality and to be repulsed by our desires and intelligences.
We are taught to walk scared late at night. We cradle our keys between our perfectly manicured fingers, walking gracefully like a baby antelope in a herd of lions. That our virginity defines our character. That I am a frigid bitch if I do not fuck him, and a dirty slut if I do.
Michelle K., The Truth About Growing Up A Woman (via d-etoxx)

(via cordealia)

Apr 21, 2014 / 152,348 notes
Apr 21, 2014 / 5,496 notes

hermione:

Jemima Kirke photographed by Frances Tulk-Hart

(via cordealia)

I destroyed my body for a peace of mind I never got.
Unknown (via contentum)

(via flotes)

Apr 19, 2014 / 168,575 notes
I am more sensitive than other people. Things that other people would not notice awaken a distinct echo in me, and in such moments of lucidity, when I look at myself, I see that I am alone, all alone, all alone.
Henri Barbusse (via emotsiya)

(via cordealia)

Apr 19, 2014 / 1,337 notes

A boy sprawled next to me on the bus, elbows out, knee pointing sharp into my thigh.
He frowned at me when I uncrossed my legs, unfolded my hands
and splayed out like boys are taught to: all big, loose limbs.
I made sure to jab him in the side with my pretty little sharp purse.
At first he opened his mouth like I expected him to, but instead of speaking up he sat there, quiet, and took it for the whole bus ride.
Like a girl.

Once, a boy said my anger was cute, and he laughed,
and I remember thinking that I should sit there and take it,
because it isn’t ladylike to cause a scene and girls aren’t supposed to raise their voices.
But then he laughed again and all I saw
was my pretty little sharp nails digging into his cheek
before drawing back and making a horribly unladylike fist.
(my teacher informed me later that there is no ladylike way of making a fist.)

When we were both in the principal’s office twenty minutes later
him with a bloody mouth and cheek, me with skinned knuckles,
I tried to explain in words that I didn’t have yet
that I was tired of having my emotions not taken seriously
just because I’m a girl.

Girls are taught: be small, so boys can be big.
Don’t take up any more space than absolutely necessary.
Be small and smooth with soft edges
and hold in the howling when they touch you and it hurts:
the sandpaper scrape of their body hair that we would be shamed for having,
the greedy hands that press too hard and too often take without asking permission.

Girls are taught: be quiet and unimposing and oh so small
when they heckle you with their big voices from the window of a car,
because it’s rude to scream curse words back at them, and they’d just laugh anyway.
We’re taught to pin on smiles for the boys who jeer at us on the street
who see us as convenient bodies instead of people.

Girls are taught: hush, be hairless and small and soft,
so we sit there and take it and hold in the howling,
pretend to be obedient lapdogs instead of the wolves we are.
We pin pretty little sharp smiles on our faces instead of opening our mouths,
because if we do we get accused of silly women emotions
blowing everything out of proportion with our PMS, we get
condescending pet names and not-so-discreet eyerolls.

Once, I got told I punched like a girl.
I told him, Good. I hope my pretty little sharp rings leave scars.

'My Perfume Doubles As Mace,' theappleppielifestyle. (via albinwonderland)

(via nowherepast)

Apr 19, 2014 / 188,893 notes
Apr 19, 2014 / 17,415 notes

hotclog:

i hit rock bottom like every 5 hours

(via viearbre)

Apr 16, 2014 / 12,704 notes

(via cordealia)

Apr 16, 2014 / 5,765 notes

(via uzucu)

Apr 16, 2014 / 2,009 notes

(via cordealia)

I have always lived violently, drunk hugely, eaten too much or not at all, slept around the clock or missed two nights of sleeping, worked too hard and too long in glory, or slobbed for a time in utter laziness. I’ve lifted, pulled, chopped, climbed, made love with joy and taken my hangovers as a consequence, not as a punishment.
John Steinbeck (via perfect)

(via cordealia)

Apr 16, 2014 / 9,085 notes
I know who I was this morning, but I’ve changed a few times since then.
Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass (via mellowmodesty)

(via nowherepast)

Apr 16, 2014 / 48,663 notes
All I ever really want to know is how other people are making it through life—where do they put their body, hour by hour, and how do they cope inside of it.
Miranda July (via minuty)

(via nowherepast)

Apr 16, 2014 / 162 notes
Apr 16, 2014 / 202,495 notes

(via viearbre)