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One is not like the other.

always reblog.

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"I have packed myself into silence so deeply and for so long that I can never unpack myself using words. When I speak, I only pack myself a little differently."

Herta Müller (via nicky-poisonivy)

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"You wouldn’t stop
and you wouldn’t stop and
it was as if each cell in my body
had its own caged bird
and you opened every door
and every bird flew out at once
until there was nothing left of me,
nothing left of me
but a cloud of wings
surrounding us and still,
you wouldn’t stop."

Peregrine (via childoflust)

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Do you ever wonder about how an author would describe you in a novel? Not only your appearance but the way you talk and laugh and hold yourself and all the expressions on your face?

“And then there’s this asshole”

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Posted 2 weeks ago
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Italian Coronation Sword

Beginning of the nineteenth century.

Two-wire straight blade with dual central groove, the base engraved with the monogram “J II” surmounted by a crown above and a few decorations. Iron hilt with quillons coils and solid carved; pommel with oblique grooves. Handle coated braid and brown heads with iron wire and brass.

Length 118 cm.

Read more: http://sword-site.com/thread/694/italian-coronation-sword#ixzz2wsA9rDwJ

Sword-Site: The World’s Largest Free Online Sword Museum


Posted 2 weeks ago
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"I have met boys who slipped their hands into my pants
while they were driving a car.
One hand on the steering wheel,
the other creeping up my thigh-
because touching me wasn’t something that required
their full attention.

I have met boys who blushed a deep red
when they caught a brief glimpse of my cotton underwear
as I uncrossed my legs.

Then there was the boy who
politely studied the painting on the bathroom wall
while I peed at a party
and had no qualms about
unbuttoning my jeans a few hours later,
while we rode in the backseat of my friend’s car.

I have tried to forget leaning against a tiny sink
and seeing a boy who I thought of as simply a close friend
look at my pants like they were the claw arcade game
and whatever was down there was something
he needed to take home, no matter how many tries it took.

I have looked at boy’s fingers as they
plucked the strings of a guitar or pressed the keys of a piano
and imagined what they’d feel like running down my spine.

I have looked at boy’s fingers
and wished that their sticky little rolls
never once left a salty stain on my inner thighs.

I am thinking of being touched
as a course I once taught-
“Give me your hand.
This is my hip, please linger here.
This is my chin, please cup it and pull me closer.”

I am thinking that perhaps I should retire
and wait until the pupils learn to educate themselves,
and yet I crave you tracing the shape of my ears
the same way you finger the fragile stem of a flower-
gently, patiently,
like touch is a lesson that you can never get sick of learning."

Please, Play My Ribs Like A Xylophone | Lora Mathis  (via kanyequeen)

Posted 2 weeks ago
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