austere

in between words

  • 19th September
    2014
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  • 19th September
    2014
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  • 19th September
    2014
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  • 18th September
    2014
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  • 18th September
    2014
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  • 18th September
    2014
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Balance is key. In everything you do. Dance all night long and practice yoga the next day. Drink wine but don’t forget your green juice. Eat chocolate when your heart wants it and kale salad when your body needs it. Wear high heels on Saturday and walk barefoot on Sunday. Go shopping at the mall and then sit down and meditate in your bedroom. Live high and low. Move and stay still. Embrace all sides of who you are and live your authentic truth! Be brave and bold and spontaneous and loud and let that complement your abilities to find silence and patience and modesty and peace. Aim for balance. Make your own rules and don’t let anybody tell you how to live according to theirs.

Rachel Brathen

She is the absolute goddess of life and so inspirational to me. 

(via theteenyyogini)

(via doinkydoinks)

  • 18th September
    2014
  • 18
There’s no point to a guy yelling, “Hey sexy baby” at me out of the passenger window of a car as it speeds past. Even if I was into creepy misogynists and wanted to give him my number, I couldn’t. The car didn’t even slow down. But that’s okay, because he wasn’t actually hitting on me. The point wasn’t to proposition me or chat me up. The only point was to remind me, and all women, that our bodies are his to stare at, assess, comment on, even touch. “Hey sexy baby” is the first part of a sentence that finishes, “this is your daily message from the patriarchy, reminding you that your body is public property”.
  • 18th September
    2014
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  • 17th September
    2014
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  • 17th September
    2014
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And
I am always the forgotten one.
I am the one who loves more.
I am the one who writes passion poems into the sand
to make love to the sea,
only for the tide to wash away my words.
love comes in waves—m.v.g. (via feeltherainx41)

(via memories-liveon)

  • 17th September
    2014
  • 17

If I could,
I would turn girls into dragons.

Girls whose skin
has been stained by filthy hands,
girls who are forced
to face those familiar hands
day after day,

give them armor.

Girls who are told
that womanhood means duty,
who dig
and sweat
and carry
and labor,
girls who break their backs
on someone else’s burden,

give them spiked spines.

Girls trapped in cycles:
cycles of abuse
addiction
poverty
pain
cycles they can’t even name,
cycling
cycling
down the drain
and thrown out with the bathwater,

give them claws.

Girls
who chomp down on fear
hiding behind their teeth,
who swallow it whole
because it’s the only nourishment they’ll get,

give them razor fangs.

Girls
who thirst for knowledge
in the middle of a drought,
girls whose minds
are considered as real as their suffering,

give them fire
to burst from their mouths
in place of the words that no one hears.

Girls
whose bodies are not their own;
who are meant for decoration
and cannot decorate themselves,
who are meant for pleasure
and cannot pleasure themselves,
who are meant to be examples
and cannot exemplify themselves,

give them wings
to fly far, far away,

taste freedom in the sky,
and see it for what it should be:
a right, not a privilege.

Every girl
who is considered a possession
or a prize
or a plaything,

who lives
confined by people
who call condescension “love”
and manipulation “compromise”
and fear “respect”
and silence “consent,”

give her eyes
that strike terror into the heart
of anyone who would call her weak.

Gift girls with dragonhood
when personhood is a myth.

  • 17th September
    2014
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  • 17th September
    2014
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  • 16th September
    2014
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  • 16th September
    2014
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