inkskinned:

a secret code between women: are you safe? in a contact of eyes. i’m here if you need me, the littlest shift of a skirt, of an inclined head, of watching the man who is asking you to smile, bitch. you aren’t alone on the walls of restrooms, i was where you are too. the quiet doling of emergency numbers, the shelters. the space between two women in a largely empty train station. the waiting game of two women strangers who walk, quietly and quickly, to their cars in abandoned parking lots, who watch to be sure the other leaves safely. text me you get home safe. the tally marks of drinks on hidden wrists, carefully disguised as other things ever since men picked up on what it meant and used it to target the “weakest link.” 

my father tells me we have nothing to worry about. last night he sent me one of those email chains that say at the top “Safety Tips For The Women In Your Life!!!! Don’t Let Her Die!!” 

me, and the stranger on the train. she is asleep and the man is asking me who i am going home to. i feel tears pricking the sides of my eyes. i am 13 while he towers over me. he reaches out one hand, and while i don’t know how she knows, she speaks up without opening her eyes: “If you touch my daughter, sir, I will murder you.” Whatever he grumbles is lost in history, because this moment I am so grateful for the existence of other people that I cannot breathe.

I am 19 and on my phone when i become aware of a 13 year old girl is smiling nervously at a man who’s saying disgusting things. I grab her arm. “There you are, cindy,” I say, and then look at the man like he is bile. “Do you need something from my sister?” i ask, and i walk away with her. she cries later.

this is the way of things: a silent, secret web. our promise to each other that despite our differences, when it comes to the wire, we become family, instantly. the unspoken promise. i’m here. i’m watching. i’ll witness.

(via danimoonstarr)

shadio:

Don’t u. Ever. Get too. Comfortable

It gets quite awful after a while.

(via zackisontumblr)

nayx:

me, decomposing on my bed: sending you all good vibes :)

(via balverine)

writingsforwinter:

1. Stay awake until your body is a high note that won’t quit and the rest of the city is asleep, when you can run barefoot through the streets, past only strangers pulling on bottles from crumpled paper bags, who won’t notice you, and this is what you want, this is what feels good, not being noticed. Being noticed is too much. That’s what leads to trouble.

 2. Fall in love with danger, stand close to the edge of cliffs, cradle your pulse in your hands, ride fast down the interstate without a seat belt. Swallowing lemons until they drown out the bitter taste of that coward’s mouth.

3. Drink drink drink drink drink drink drink. Drink to forget, drink to survive; your liver won’t thank you but the forgetting that eventually comes, will.

4. Become accustomed to the grief. The way it will dry you out like salt, eliminate everything else that matters, weight you heavy, turn a red heart into a leaking one. It will try to kiss you. But at least at times it will treat you better than the pain ever could.

5. Drink some more.

6. Smash things, an entire cabinet full of plates, every single wine goblet, all those goddamn Mason jars you filled with letters from people you thought actually cared, who stopped calling when you told them how you’d been hurt, who left without a word, who thought you would be too difficult to deal with. Who wanted no share of your sorrow.

7. Ouch. You smashed all the wine goblets. Just drink straight from the bottle.

8. Write. Write poetry until your hand grows sore from typing or scratching out ink on paper, whichever way you want to do it, whichever way burns the most and leaves all the scorch marks. Write out your guts then when you’re done, slide them back in. You’ll need them later.

 9. Yell at the seasons for teaching you about change, for proving that it’s real, for preventing everything from staying the same when you never wanted this, you never wanted this at all, you want to go back to the one season when everything was good and this hadn’t yet happened, when you were kind and full of hope and grace and trust.

10. Did I mention drinking yet?

11. Throw out everything you wrote before. No matter how good it was. Nobody needs reminders like that. This is catharsis. Maybe.

 12. Refill the glass.

(via writingsforwinter)

smokeringbob:

frequentlypolitical:

I feel like women with depression are still expected to be polite and pretend to be happy in order to keep others happy, while men with depression get to be openly miserable and even rude and their depression can be an excuse for whatever bad behaviour they engage in.

Yessssssssss Also men’s depression is seen as like artistic and deep. Like its ok that theyre rude cause theyre going to write the next great American novel or some bull shit. While women with depression really aren’t taken seriously or were asked if we are pmsing or our suicides get made fun of for decades (sylvia plath)

(via lillpoundcake)

mrjonmoore:

The Next Generation of Beekeeping is Here – Keep the Bees

As honey bees around the world continue to decline, the need for beekeepers increases. Over 60 universities across the nation have integrated beekeeping education into their course offerings, fueling curiosity and preparing the next generation of bee advocates. Marissa Womack, 22, is currently enrolled in such a class at Cal Poly State University in San Luis Obispo, CA. Like the majority of her…

View On WordPress

(via mrjonmoore)