Ohforanasdiary - Ana - Tumblr Blog

butch fingers in my mouth butch fingers in my mouth butch fingers in my mouth butch fingers in my mouth butch fingers in my mouth butch fingers in my mouth butch fingers in my mouth

this sucks so bad i need to [remembers suicide jokes only worsen my mental health] put on the best talent show this towns ever seen

I’ve been keeping a secret for longer than I can handle and this album is my confession. Admission. Plea for kindness. Cry for help. Hand held out and extended. Promise of faith. Solemn nod in the face of “oh my god”. My sideways smile of radical acceptance. I love you so much and I thank the heavens for every single note that left my mouth in the making of.

Ruth Madievsky, All-Night Pharmacy

people are calling maestro anti queer because it doesn’t have an explicit gay sex scene ohhh media literacy etc etc

girlhood is growing up to embody the juxtaposition of sugar and spice. to learn to radiate innocence and sex appeal. to be prepubescently taught of your own autonomy, femininity and boundaries. while also knowing when strong hands come down on you, you must let them. for now you’re older, but it is all you’ve ever known. it is carrying the weight of your mothers eating disorder, while being taught in school of mental healths importance. it is being trapped doom scrolling on your phone and seeing body positivity posts between beauty icons you wish you could cut yourself into being. girlhood is a game of one step forward, two steps back. in this age it is acceptable to say no, but promised to be ridiculed if you do, then wondered why you didn’t. it is wearing ribbons in your hair and skirts, to then later have your lace underwear shoved in your mouth. innocent? i have had red handprints on my skin before my body bled. i’m older now, and i have fallen in love with the sensation of being desired but feel imprisoned when his hands reach my body. for my naked self is not seen as desirable in the way i wish it was. for nudity is seen as merely a step to lead to the next, it is forgotten that these are the bodies art was made for.

-which part of me are you asking for now

rinko kawauchi

Whenever we go out on a date, I wanna bring fresh flowers for you. Whenever I move away from you, I would love to write handwritten love letters and send postcards for you. I would like to spend our precious times at small local cafes talking and looking at eachother smile. I would love to write love poems for you everyday, give you neck kisses. I want to be sneaky and check up on your annotated books to find what you like the most. I want to spend time with you while listening to the rain and ocean waves at the beach. At, the end of the day, I want go out for late night drives with you and spend sometime looking at the stars while lying on the rooftops or on the grass, with you.

madame__ette

Blessed Monday witchess

"How do I stop being scared of-" You do it scared. The courage arrives WITH the action, not before it. Don't wait to feel confident before you act because the key to confidence is usually doing the thing while still scared as fuck

posts that make me want to rip my heart out part 5

I mean. Yeah. being thrust into this insane world / business at 18 irrevocably altered my brain chemistry. but I gotta say, I wake up everyday and make a coffee and sit with my son while we have breakfast and I think to myself “you made it out relatively unscathed to this point, kid.” and for that I am grateful beyond measure. all it took was the exhaustion of waking up and self evaluating on a microscopic level for the past 5 years (which nearly killed me) BUT. I’m here. And I have kept it pretty much together (best as I can) as of recent. which is more than 18 year old me would have ever given herself the faith to bet on. Growth and pain and peace on the horizon. You got this.

@rbhvleo // roberto ferri // mothering by ainslie hogarth // rainer maria rilke // ? // planet of love by richard siken // a self portrait in letters by anne sexton // indian summer by ron hicks

i can hear my mother telling me to not stretch myself out too far, and that i can’t help everyone. that it’s too much for me. i’m not sure this is a lesson i can learn without her

Charles Bukowski, "the miracle is the shortest time," from War All The Time: Poems, 1981-1984

"Midsummer", d.x.yll/From Franz Kafka diaries 1910-1923

invisible - 5sos / unknown / nine - sleeping at last / ophelia - john everett millais / chain of iron - cassandra clare