Browneyed-brownhairedgirl - Coco

when a girl starts growing up then all her loved ones start fading into unfamiliarity. The mouth of her mother starts spitting venomous hatred towards her growing skin. Father's opinions start falling low, shaming her for desiring extra air, outside his suffocating layers of thick curtains. The mind of her friends start revealing to be shallow, cheapening her skills to just sly trickeries. The eyes of strangers, old or young, start turning hungry, beseeching helplessly everywhere around her, to destroy.

The smell of burned dreams and an intolerable noise surrounds her, blaming her for all the impurities in the world, till she dies, sometimes even after that.

-@illusoryescapee

Is it abuse, when you were too young to realise? Is it abuse, when the criminals are your loved ones?

all i do is cry, read books, listen to music, and stare at the moon

SAHIL MIRZA IS THE ONLY ALLY FOR WLW WE NEED. HE DIDN’T REACT IN A HOMOPHOBIC WAY WHEN HE FOUND OUT SWEETY WAS A LESBIAN DESPITE BEING HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE WITH HER AND ASKED HER IF HE COULD HELP HER SINCE SHE WAS IN THE CLOSET AND HER GIRLFRIEND WAS IN LONDON.

WHEN SWEETY TOLD HIM SHE MIGHT KILL HERSELF IF SHE CAN’T BE WITH KUHU HE TOLD HER NO AND LET HER HUG HIM AND PROCEEDED TO CREATE A WHOLE FUCKING PLAY TO LET SWEETY AND KUHU BE NEAR EACH OTHER AND TACKLE HOMOPHOBIA AND HOW HARMFUL HETERONORMATIVITY IS.

AND HE DID IT ALL BECAUSE SWEETY IS HIS FRIEND. HE FOUND SUCCESS IN CREATING A FRESH NEW STORY BY PARALLELING THE TRUTH; REALITY. BY GIVING QUEER VOICES A PLACE TO BE HEARD, FOR A MESSAGE TO BE SENT OUT AND TO ENLIGHTEN PEOPLE. ALL TO HELP SWEETY AND KUHU BE TOGETHER.

Just an experiment. Reblog if you actually give a fuck about male victims of domestic violence and rape.

Of fucking course

What sick bastard doesn’t

"And God said, "Love your enemy,"

and I obeyed him and loved myself."

- Khalil Gibran

How wild is it that every version of you probably exists still, somewhere, in someone’s memory? The messy you, crying on the floor exists still in your mind. The happy, sun-soaked you, exists in your best friend’s memory. No part of you has died, all parts of us exist always, simultaneously and hidden. 

the feminine urge to run barefoot into the forest. to read and make art. to tell people how much they mean to you. to pick pretty flowers and put them in someone’s hair. to stare at the sky and see your own breath as you breathe in the changing air.

“In college I had a physics professor who wrote the date and time in red marker on a sheet of white paper and then lit the paper on fire and placed it on a metallic mesh basket on the lab table where it burned to ashes. He asked us whether or not the information on the paper was destroyed and not recoverable, and of course we were wrong, because physics tells us that information is never lost, not even in a black hole, and that what is seemingly destroyed is, in fact, retrievable. In that burning paper the markings of ink on the page are preserved in the way the flame flickers and the smoke curls. Wildly distorted to the point of chaos, the information is nonetheless not dead. Nothing, really, dies. Nothing dies. Nothing dies.”

— Nicholas Rombes, The Absolution of Roberto Acestes Laing (via bobschofield)

Could you maybe reblog this post if you think respecting trans peoples' names and identities is a basic right and not a political opinion?

No pressure. Just seeking some validation of my sentiment. Due to some. people