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you are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
forget you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.
Warsan Shire
“for women who are ‘difficult’ to love”


Who decided you were so important?
Who told you that your life was more important than hers?
When they taught you to stab her and drags your blade across, why did you?
Who decided you were more important?
Most important?
They say her mother didn’t love her.
Was that true?
Does that make it right?
They told you that her children don’t need her.
Does that keep them from screaming all night?
Or have they already felt the edge of your knife too?
When you saw no blood,
did you forget what she was?
What she had been?
When you learnt her favourite food was an apple,
Was it funny to you?
That she had one in her mouth when you set her on fire?
Did you ridicule her for smelling
When no one had ever given her a bath?
Did you call her fat
When she had nothing to eat but empty grains?
Did you sneer at her ugliness
When you didn’t understand her beauty?
Did her heart not once beat as yours does now?
Was her skin not warm and pink as yours is now?
Who decided you were so important?
Who told you that your life was more important than hers?
Why did you listen?
Why do you still believe?

Body Politics

Mama said,

Real woman
Don’t steal
From the sky and wear clouds
On their eyelids.

Real woman
Eat rabbit well-done
Not left half-raw
On their mouth.

Real woman
Have lots of meat
On their bones.
They’re not starving,
Hobbled horses
With bony, grinding hips.

Real woman caress
With featherstone hands
Not with falcon fingernails
That have never worked.

When she was finished talking
She clicked her teeth
Lifted her arse
And farted
At the passing
City women.

— Louise Bernice Halfe

Our Cambodia Volunteer Experience

My boyfriend (Dylan Mills) and I are trying to raise enough funds for our volunteer trip this summer. We will be going to Cambodia from June 7th to June 20th. For the first week, we will be working on an Elephant Sanctuary helping to rehabilitate elephants who come from cruel backgrounds, often in the entertainment industry. For the second week, we will be working in a village about 30 minutes outside of Siem Reap to build or repair homes/classrooms and work with local children in and after school.
Dylan and I are raising all of our funds together. We’re aiming for $10000 to pay for both of our volunteer program fees, money for incidentals and both of our round trip flights. We will make sure that any excess money makes it’s way to helping the elephant sanctuary and the village we will be working in.
Donating anything you can would mean the world to us. This is a link to our GoFundMe site.
Please help us out with anything you can!
Thank you in advanced!

There has always been a lot of talk about therapy being a sign of weakness or, for lack of a better term, “lesser person”. I’m not sure where that all started, and I think it’s utterly absurd. There are a few points I’d like to make here. The first one being, knowing you need help and seeking it out is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign of strength. It takes tremendous courage to admit that you have a problem and that you cannot face it on your own. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Which brings me straight to my second point. In my opinion, the more intelligent you are, the more fucked up you’re going to be. It’s true, ignorance is bliss. So if you have to seek out help, not only are you smart enough to admit that you’re not the most perfect person on the planet but you’re also smart enough to realize that the world is a really really fucked up place in many many ways. It’s hard to stay happy and optimistic when society is telling you you’re ugly and fat, and children are being bombed and animals are being tortured and you can’t figure out how you’re possibly supposed to fix everything within your life time. Especially when you feel like there are so few people out there who give a shit like you do. So next time you’re feeling a little ashamed to say that you’re seeing a therapist or a psychiatrist or a psychologist, know that it’s probably a sign that you’re a better person. Know that it’s okay not to know how to handle everything and that there are people out there feeling the same way. Know that sometimes life is just too fucking hard to be able to deal with everything at once all by yourself! And know that whoever says “God only gives you as much as you can handle” probably sees suicide as a cop out and probably believes in god so that shit doesn’t apply to you! God didn’t give you shit. Your brain is smart enough to know that there’s more to life than how tan you look in that selfie and it can’t figure out why the fuck you’re posting selfies online to get “likes” in the first place! WHY DOESN’T ANYONE ELSE GIVE A SHIT?!?! And next time, someone says something demeaning about mental health care or anything related, punch them right in the face. You can blame me directly. I’ll take the charges and the law suits. Because I’m sick and tired of feeling weak and helpless. So I’m doing something about it.

I don’t know who made this, but it is literally me. Like, no joke, I work at Starbucks and own that Doctor Who tardis mug. I also have light flowy curtains and posters all over my walls. And that facial expression! 👌 On point that is.

He had been bewildered by it once, her caring for a dull-witted fellow like him: then assured at last of her affection he had relaxed against it gratefully, unsuspecting it might ever be less constant than his own. Even now, listening to the restless brooding in her voice, he felt only a quick, unformulated kind of pride that after seven years his absence for a day should still concern her. While, she, his trust and earnestness controlling her again: ‘I know. It’s just that sometimes when you’re away I get lonely…’
"The Painted Door" - Sinclair Ross
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