tangling up

liquidcassidy:

“When I met Johnny, I was pure virgin. He changed that. He was my first everything. My first real kiss. My first real boyfriend. My first fiancé. The first guy I had sex with. So he’ll always be in my heart. Forever. Kind of funny that word.” - Winona Ryder

WINO 5EVER

(Source: skeletonguns, via someonesavetemptation)

I am temperate always,
But I am like to be very drunk
With your coming.

—Amy Lowell, from “Anticipation” (via proustitute)

Darling, all night
I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.

—Sylvia Plath, from “Fever 103°” (via proustitute)

Boys are told from a young age that whatever they do will be excused under the “boys will be boys” mantra, and that “boys will be boys” mentality leads to what I call the “boiling frog” problem of women’s sexual boundaries. I call it that because if you put a frog into a pot of boiling water, it will jump right out, but if you put a frog into a pot of room-temperature water and slowly heat it to a boil, the frog will acclimate as it heats and never jump out, eventually boiling to death. Similarly, when we learn as young girls to tolerate “low-level” boundary violations like the ones we often are forced to suffer in silence at school, at home and on the street – bra-snapping, boob-grabbing, ass pinching, catcalling, dick flashing “all in good fun” relentless violations that adults and authorities routinely ignore – it makes it harder for us to notice when even greater boundaries are being violated, eventually leading to the reality that many women who are raped just freeze and fall silent, because that’s what they’ve been taught to do over and over since day one. You tell me what’s more infantilizing: repeatedly letting boys (and grown men) off the hook for their behavior because “boys will be boys” and we can’t ever expect any differently, or creating a consent standard in which all partners take active responsibility for their partner’s safety, and which acknowledges the truly diseased sexual culture we’re soaking in every day.

Susan Hahn, “Hysteria”

poetryeater:

I know I know
I took in too much
but the tree was there
with its enticing skins,
the garden intolerably quiet,
the snake so colorful, resolute,
I thought if I could just fondle
the fruit… but now, Please God
I want to go back to the beginning
of the day so I can say no thank you:
it’s all considerably more than I can handle.

The Frenemy.: On Saying What You Mean

thefrenemy:

If I counted the amount of times I went without saying how I really felt on my hands, I could simply clasp my hands over my mouth and let the 1,000 other phantom fingers float somewhere in space.

Funny enough, it goes without saying how much I really don’t really say anything at all. Ever. If…