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the first time someone tells you these words I hope you stick out your hand and catch the letters in the air I hope you crunch them in your fist I hope you shove them back into the mouth they flew out of I hope and pray you are not eight years old and hanging off of a shopping cart and groaning about how bored you are, I hope you were not young like I was the first time I read a magazine on a shelf underneath the candy I hope you weren’t young because I still thought everything I read had to be true - but better yet, I hope these words never find you.

They tell you to be strong but it’s the little things like this that sit on our hips and tangle in our hair and feel like bees when the night gets dark. It’s the little things we could never ever shake off because the minute we tried, we discovered there were more waiting for us.


smile more often. I hope the first time someone calls you fat, you shimmy your shoulders and wink and feel like a goddess and take it as a compliment. I hope you are not the new kid in a fifth-grade class, glasses on your nose and your hair in tangles. I hope nobody ever touched your tummy and asked if you were embarrassed by the way it jiggles. I hope if you ever hear those words, you reach out your beautiful fingers and touch the temple of the person talking and ask, “Are you embarrassed your brain works like that?”

See, I have not gained weight since the eight grade and I’m twenty. I have had about four hundred people tell me I’m skinny but it’s only the two or three voices about the thickness of my thighs and the fat on my hips - these are the only voices that stick. Don’t give them that satisfaction. Take a bath. Stare at your reflection. Count the flecks beside your iris. Promise yourself you’re not going to ruin your life - you won’t let them win. Don’t let that moment cause ripples. Yank out the cruelty from your system.


stop faking it. Stop engineering your body to be a call-and-response of bruises and shots. I hope you are not fifteen the first time a boy kisses you hard. I hope you do not go home with a bloody mouth and spend the rest of your life thinking love is stained with iron. I hope you are not swallowing your sanity to be with somebody. I hope the first time you let someone touch you, they are someone worthy of your trust - I hope that nobody tries to force you into a label like “frigid” or “slut.”

In the animal world, most males have bright plumage so they can attract mates. In humans, we expect ladies to look a certain way. When you break out of the norm, suddenly you’re rattling chains. How dare you not want sex and still look this way. Maybe people are scared of admitting your body has power - it can turn heads in a baggy sweatshirt. Your body doesn’t need a magazine’s confirmation. Your body’s been through hell and still keeps on living. Put on your heels and stalk down the sidewalk. Take off your makeup. Do what you need to feel awesome.


ignore everything they tell you. Don’t let them in.


Maybe one day I’ll make a list of every single terrible magazine I’ve read. I think I’m gonna start an advice column called “If it makes them money, it’s probably not good.” /// r.i.d (via themilkywhiteway)

I will reblog this every time

(via thesearchisneverover)

(Source: inkskinned, via aplastictree)

new skewl

and that’s pretty much how everything became logos
proclamations of wealth and status or rejections
you put something down, you aim for the stars
try to sit atop one
no possible. asprin. assburn.
And I never get tired of crying for the olden days
some patches of grass
but what do I know? I’m only twenty five years old.
Other people have the right keep trying and keep chasing that impossible cool.
Only I know that it’s gone extinct and the more you try to resurrect it the more the bones become dust
For awhile there I was numb
now the feeling is returning like a limb waking… I want to exercise all day
If I was a hamster I would stay in my plastic bubble wheel, never sleep, never eat.
If I were a fish I’d make my way through every creek and rivulet until I’d seen all the seas
If I were a whale I would drag my belly through the very bottom mud of the very last ocean
until I’d felt it all
Just to see the dark without the backlight I’d make my way like hemoglobin through the veins of a being like me.
Oh to be inside and outside at the same time.
In motion and in stillness and in zen.
In the name of the father and the son and the holy spirit.
But only the old school know and remember, it was the mother that was there first.
It was the force of life that made love to the earth.
Not lithium or gas or the decapitation of the mountains could marie antoinette the spirit or the rage of the morning sun.
No tinfoil hats will help us when the old world reclaims us.

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The Empress.. Only 18 major arcana cards to go…! #pamelacolmansmith #tarot

(via cosmicspread)

Save a horse, ride a cowboy.


Serious Heavy Metal for our boy @kingchip216 #hancholo #sterling #kingchip #jewelry (at Han Cholo Headquarters)


"Masculinity is a trait, not a gender"

In an effort to both allocate space for and document the existence of masculine women, photographer Meg Allen created a powerful series of portraits for an exhibit at Cafe Gabriela in Oakland, Calif.

Entitled BUTCH, Allen’s series not only represents genderqueer women for a broader, heteronormative audience, but reaffirms butch identity within the queer community at a time when “butch flight,” or gender transitioning, is arguably becoming more and more commonplace. It is, as Allen says on her website, “an homage to the bull-daggers and female husbands before me, and to the young studs, gender queers and bois who continue to bloom into the present.”

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