My friend, in his condolences, just told me he knows no greater pain than losing a pet and honestly I couldn’t agree with him more.

My father hated/ignored/emotionally abused me my whole life. I dealt with depression and eating disorders and losing most of my friends and break ups and awful family feuds and even when I was suicidal my heart never hurt this much

saffronfield:

I can’t wait until we as a society wake up and acknowledge that pornography is a public health crisis. obviously it’s reductive to say that it is the cause of sexual violence but you’re lying to yourself if you honestly think it doesn’t exacerbate it and desensitize men and boys to extreme forms of misogyny. I’m sick of women being called paranoid bitches who hate sex or hate fun because we oppose a system that treats us like commodities for sale

(via hashtagdion)

This has been the worst Christmas ever and I need somewhere to complain about it

All month long I’ve been saying how nice it was that this was the first time in years I have felt “Christmas spirit”. I was happy and excited to celebrate with my family.

I have spent every night this past week awake almost all night long with my sick cat, hoping he dies so that I wouldn’t have to do what we did today.

This morning we took him to the vet, found out how much pain he is in and that the only thing we could do to help him would be very long and painful and scary and expensive.

So we had to put my best friend of 18 years to sleep. I held him as he died and I think he was comfortable. Now my cat is buried in my yard instead of sleeping in bed with me like he has nearly every night for the past 18 years of my life.

Then my father and I got into a huge fight, he left in the middle of making our Christmas Eve dinner and apparently went to a bar that him and my mom usually go to. My mom was sobbing and my poor brother came home from a party to find the house in chaos.

May Dad came home and I had to stay in my bedroom in the basement so he wouldn’t see me and get more angry.

I listened from downstairs to hear him say a bunch of shitty stuff. My mom came down and I cried to her about how much he doesn’t like me etc etc etc and she basically confirmed what I’ve always known, and apologized that things couldn’t be different.

So my family is upstairs having Christmas Eve without me and I am a 24 year old sitting in my bed sobbing as I hear them watch my favorite Christmas movie, deal with the fact that my cat isn’t with me, and the fact that it’s been (kindly ) confirmed that no my dad doesn’t like me, no he doesn’t want me around to celebrate with them, yes he thinks I’m a crappy person

So. Yeah. So far, this is my worst Christmas ever. And now I have to go on vacation with them for three days and basically not say anything or have any conversations or have any fun because that would piss of my crazy father Nd then my mom and brother won’t have a nice time and I don’t want to ruin this more for them.

I smoked a cigarette in my bathroom like a teenager, I had very strong self harm thoughts for the first time in years, I’m filled with self pity and all my feelings of being unwanted as a kid/teenager have flooded back because now I know the really were true.

smile-even-if-youre-dying:

smile-even-if-youre-dying:

I wish I could write you a poem as eloquent as this.

mo ni fe

The word Hinduism did not exist until 29,000 years after the religion was born. 
This means the faith that millions of people poured into themselves for centuries did not have a name.
It makes me wonder
if the faith I have in us
will remain nameless until we extinguish.
There are 330 millions Gods clasped in the hands of India,
not one of them is the way I feel about you.
Having a conversation with you, is swimming through the English Channel, naked, charging, harsh coming up for breaths of air.
Your apologies are my favorite songs.
They do not play on the radio.
Yet, 
I awake frozen crescendos foaming from my lips.
I don’t apologize for things I wish i could change but never will.
Loving you is the first step I take in loving myself.
You are rose garden in my cheeks
fistfuls of moonlight that keep fish from sleeping.
So you understand,
why this feels like the undiscovering of heartbreak. 
You are cliffs on California coastlines,
red dirt exposing roots of trees to bitter wind like the nerves of a broken wrist bent back, pine branches, windswept, worshipping Eastwards, like you were born headfirst in Mecca but haven’t felt this close to God since.
To know you is a perpetual blessing.
I cannot promise I will never leave you. But I can promise I will never want to.
I will redirect the compass of my voice to your worst days.
Never let you go to bed without brushing your teeth. 
Show me your favorite book. I will memorize the last chapter read it out loud every night you feel unfinished.
I have the heart, wires, mercy, audacity, wind, muscle to love you how I am supposed to.
For every girl you will ever love and every girl who will ever love you. 
make sure darkness never gets the best of you when it does, 
speak my name in kilowatt.  
I will pull your morality out of you like a moan,
warmth from palm print,
bone from bedrock.
I will tie-dye your inner thighs.
I want to give you birthmarks, kiss you like hot rain, wake up every morning a different person next to you, rub my grandmother’s Scottish lullabies into the lush of your wrist until we share a bloodline.
Let the first words our children learn be mo ni fe- Yoruba.
Strip me from my bruises.
Remember how my name had to be pried from your mouth?
Remember our arteries, chain-linking in the flack of dawn?
The way you sliced pulse out of my neck,
swallowed it whole, seduced the sound into throbbing for you.
Tonight. 
We rewrite the classics. 
We become the epitome. 
Do not forget how this feels.
Let the sun drag its teeth across my back as I walk to you.
This is not the sound of me leaving.
It’s is equidistance. 
It’s being able to be alone when you are with me.
This is Erik Satie’s record spinning slow through the deep night.
Give me reason to cry out.
Mo ni fe.
You are the open window.
I am the tencious candle that refuses to extinguish.
This is love,
In every single language,
Gathering enough courage to finally speak,
Out loud.

This is still my very favorite poem of all time, though I look at it much differently now. I think I posted this almost three years ago now.

darthmelyanna:

cloama:

angstravaganza:

i hate white men who say they’re ‘playing devil’s advocate’. i’m like: the devil already has lots of advocates, and they all look like you, and this isn’t a fun game.

They Might Be Giants said: You can’t shake the devil’s hand and say you’re only kidding.

Let’s chat about what a “devil’s advocate” was originally.

When the Catholic church wanted (wants? not sure if this is still practice) to canonize a candidate for sainthood, they assigned someone to argue AGAINST canonizing that person. This person’s job is to try to dig up dirt on someone they literally think should be a saint. It was not arguing excuses for, like, Nazis.

H.W. Fowler wrote, “far from being the whitewasher of the wicked, the [devil’s advocate] is the blackener of the good.” This term got totally twisted around because hey, here’s a term that lets me argue an abhorrent position without having to take the consequences of it.

Let’s stop using it this way and stop letting people use it this way. It’s a garbage rhetorical device.

(via rollership)

bob-belcher:

September 30th

October 1st

November 1st

December 1st

(via ruinedchildhood)