(Source: sosuperawesome, via petitsirena)
Drawing I did in response to a piece of thinspo that made me mad. I’m not tagging it because I don’t actively want to hurt anyone- but I am posting this because it makes me feel better.
My favourite is the cute undies drawing!! BUTTZZZ!
swearlikeasailordresslikeadoll:
bbyssssssssssssss
(Source: talking-to-clouds, via lipstickstainedlove)
“
To all the girls whose thighs touch, with stretchmarks laid like gold across their backside, with bellies too full for any inadequate hands, thank goddess for your abundance.
Kim Crosby (via queerfatfemme)
(Source: facebook.com, via queerfatfemme)
TLC - Unpretty
(via loveyourchaos)
“
We talked death and this was life for us, lasting in spite of us, or better, because of us, our intent eyes, our fingers clutching the glass, three pairs of eyes fixed on someone’s—each one’s gossip. I know that such fascination with death sounds strange (one does not argue that it isn’t sick—one knows it is—there’s no excuse), and that people cannnot understand. They keep, every year, each year, asking me “why, why?
Anne Sexton, “The Bar Fly Ought to Sing”
This woman explains suicide better than anyone else.
(via little-in-taking-or-giving)LOVE STRUCK | 1954
Dorothy Dandridge and Harry Belafonte in Carmen Jones, 1954. Produced and directed by Otto Preminger
(via southerncharmm)
“
Since you ask, most days I cannot remember.
I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage.
Then the almost unnameable lust returns.
Even then I have nothing against life.
I know well the grass blades you mention,
the furniture you have placed under the sun.
But suicides have a special language.
Like carpenters they want to know which tools.
They never ask why build.
Twice I have so simply declared myself,
have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy,
have taken on his craft, his magic.
In this way, heavy and thoughtful,
warmer than oil or water,
I have rested, drooling at the mouth-hole.
I did not think of my body at needle point.
Even the cornea and the leftover urine were gone.
Suicides have already betrayed the body.
Still-born, they don’t always die,
but dazzled, they can’t forget a drug so sweet
that even children would look on and smile.
To thrust all that life under your tongue!—
that, all by itself, becomes a passion.
Death’s a sad bone; bruised, you’d say,
and yet she waits for me, year after year,
to so delicately undo an old wound,
to empty my breath from its bad prison.
Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet,
raging at the fruit a pumped-up moon,
leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss,
leaving the page of the book carelessly open,
something unsaid, the phone off the hook
and the love whatever it was, an infection.
Anne Sexton, “Wanting to Die” (via little-in-taking-or-giving)
“
« Previous
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
Next »
I believe wholeheartedly, and without apology, that we have a collective responsibility to the children of our communities even if we did not conceive and bear them. Of course, parents can and should raise their children with their own values. But they should be able to do so in a community that provides safe places to play, quality food to eat, terrific schools to attend, and economic opportunities to support them. No individual household can do that alone. We have to build that world together.
Melissa Harris-Perry, Why caring for children is not just a parent’s job (via msnbc)
(via loveyourchaos)
