balanc3andcomposure:

things that make you feel powerful

  • matching lace underwear
  • heels (and the clicking noise they make when you walk and you know you lookin hot)
  • red lipstick
  • perfect coal black eyeliner
  • curled hair
  • freshly done nails
  • cute new clothes

vintage-kisses:

Sometimes I really don’t feel like existing like not in a suicidal way but I just wish there was a way of pausing life so that I could sleep for a few weeks and figure some stuff out and then not have to feel guilty for missing loads of stuff because really no time had passed at all

I tell my daughter every day that she is beautiful. That her intelligence is astounding and she can move mountains with her fingertips. I tell my daughter every day that she is a goddess, but to be humble; that she is capable of changing the world, if she keeps her head level and her ego at her feet. I tell my daughter every day that she is brighter than the sun and more powerful than the moon. I tell my daughter every day that she is a house, a home. She is hard wood floors and a safe place to sleep and a pantry full of food and running water because she will never learn to depend on another person to find home, to find beauty in herself, to find that she is powerful and full of intelligence and light. My daughter will never know a day when she will doubt all of the wonder that she is. She will never know a day when she will fear walking away from a man or woman who raises a fist at her, who calls her names, who demeans her. Because her worth is greater and she will always know these things. My daughter will never know a day when she will feel shamed for wearing her skirts short or her shirts low. My daughter will never know a day when she will feel shame for sleeping with a man or woman she has known for twenty minutes or twenty years. My daughter will not be labeled a whore for her choices with her body; she will not be named jezebel. She will know that what is hers is only hers until she chooses to share it and she has no obligation to anyone else to share. I do not make her share her toys and I do not make her share her food. These things are hers. These things do not belong to me, nor to the other children. They are hers. She is her own. I will not force my daughter to kiss relatives to omit their bitter feelings for a child not wanting their affection. I will not force my daughter to be held by people who she does not want to be held by. She can follow behind me any time she likes and I will welcome her with safe arms of reassurance that she is always allowed to say “no”. I will raise my daughter in a way that a patriarchal man will never guilt her into kissing him because he paid for her dinner. She is not obliged to kiss anyone, to do anything for anyone. I will raise my daughter in a way that she will speak softly, but with strong words or lift her voice when she feels it is too low. I will raise my daughter in a way that she can wear high heels and still throw a punch stronger than whiskey. I will raise my daughter in a way that when men on the streets call her baby, whistle at her, try to grab her attention, she will feel confident knowing she can walk away or she can lift her middle fingers into the air and yell “fuck you” at the top of her strong lungs. My daughter will not be a southern bell. My daughter will not be any man’s wet dream. My daughter will not be a lady. My daughter will be strong and sturdy as a six layered brick wall in her confidence and in her knowledge that she is worth more than what she will be credited for. A pretty face and thick locks of strawberry blonde hair will only scratch the surface of the hurricane I am raising.

The hurricane I am raising
tcm (via thewriterandthewildflower)

I will burn my lungs with cigarettes
And replace my blood with alcohol
As I realize you aren’t coming back

The earth will keep spinning
The stars will keep shining
And the wind will keep blowing

The world did not stop when you left
But my heart did

(via emilyologist)

grumpys:

i hate when you’re not in the same mood as your friend like when you want to slay your enemies and feast on their flesh and your friend wants to dance in a field of daisies and sing for the sake of singing like no stop that grab a pitchfork