"Thigh gaps.
Flat stomachs.
Curvy hips.
Long hair.
Protruding collar bones.
Large boobs.
I am expectations.
I am standards.
I am not enough.
I am Society’s daughter.
From the day we emerge from the womb, we are raised not by our parents, but by the media.
From the day we emerge into the world that will show us no mercy, we are nothing but the slaves of society, ready to be whipped and tortured into the perfection we will never reach.
It is with horror that I say that I fell victim to this insanity. I let myself bow down to the communism of looks, the Hitler of femininity, the evil of societal standards.
I let myself be ruled by men who will never understand what it is like to be a woman.
I let myself stand in the shower, caressing myself with the claws of desperation, painting myself with the hues of my blood, pain, tears, anger, envy, longing, desire, depression, self-loathing, hatred, drawing over the temple that is my body with fingertips that seek nothing but answers to the burning curiosity rooted within me: Am I good enough?
I have asked myself countless times: Am I good enough? Pretty enough? Bold enough? Sexy enough?
But I know better now.
So when I have a daughter, when I have a child who is crying to me about not being skinny enough, mature enough, pretty enough, sexy enough to be deemed fuckable by the men of our society, the same men who do not know her, her smile, the sparkle in her eyes when she laughs, the redness of her skin when she cries, her favorite animal, her middle name, her, and know nothing of her but the size of her breasts, I will speak to her.
I will tell her the truth. I will tell her the secret of surviving in this society.
I will tell her that she is worth more than strange men who would or would not want to paint her body with their claws.
I will tell her she is worth more than the color of her hair. I will tell her she is worth more than that short dress that doesn’t make her ass look perfect.
I will tell her she is worth more than that Sephora gift card. I will tell her she is worth more than a double zero. I will tell her that she is worth more than a 34C.
I will tell her she is worth more than the goddamn credentials that prove that a girl is suitable to be fucked.
That she is enough.
That she is not standards.
That she is not expectations.
And I, mark my words, I will fucking tell her that she is more than large boobs.
Protruding collar bones
Long hair.
Curvy hips.
Flat stomachs.
Thigh gaps.
I will raise her as my own goddamn child, not as Society’s daughter."

- Society’s Daughter; lydiasariel {i had this on my old blog, but i accidentally deleted, so reposting} (via lydiasariel)

My, oh my.

"And if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself… get a better mirror. Look a little closer. Stare a little longer. Because there’s something inside you that made you keep trying, despite everyone who told you to quit. You built a cast around your broken heart and signed it yourself; You signed it “they were wrong”. Because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a clique. Maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything. Maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth to show and tell, but never told.. because how can you hold your ground if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it? You have to believe that they were wrong."

Shane Koyczan (via stormie4ever)

"Love your parents. We are so busy growing up, we often forget they are also growing old."

Unknown   (via inspirably)

Good Vibes HERE

(via kushandwizdom)

House of Hippies

(via kushandwizdom)

(Source: supercheapet)

You are…


you are allowed to terminate toxic relationships

you are allowed to walk away from people who hurt you

you are allowed to be angry and selfish and unforgiving

you don’t owe anyone an explanation for taking care of yourself

people need to get this.

Stop trying to please people, do what your heart tells you. 

(Source: 420funeral)


I’ve got the dreamers disease. 

bloggin photos of the rainforests and the deep sea but you never been wild.



i’ve been meaning to write you more. different hotels every night aren’t so bad really. in fact- all the moving house could inspire a photo series.. not for the gram, knowing me it’s probably only for whoever controls my estate in the future and enthusiastically develops all the rolls of film i…

I like you…

I’ve finally accepted that my heart…. Flutters when I see you.
I’ve noticed that I coordinate my movements to magically come into contact with you…
I’ve noticed that I constantly peak glances at you, just so my eyes can light up at the beautiful edges of your face… Even if I’m just looking at the back of your head.

I’ve noticed that I say too much when I’m with you, I put on a “neat” outfit when I know we will cross paths.
I’ve noticed that I’m going through one of those giddy teenage crushes and my oh my you’re exciting.

I know that you have a girlfriend.
I know that you wouldn’t take a second look at me.
I know that you probably think I’m erratic, a little bit spastic.
I know that, conversation wise (on the surface) we have a lot in common.

In writing this “admittance” I’ve noticed that its just a fling and that I’m in like with the idea of liking someone, especially you.
Your boisterous laughter
The swing in your step
The sweet melodic voice that flutters from your vocal cords just to say ‘Hi’.

… I’m sitting here mentally face palming myself…
I know you won’t read this, this is partially why I wrote this….
An act of indirect admittance…
I like your physical attributes… Only because I haven’t entered the rollercoaster of your personality.
A physical attraction is somewhat less messier than an emotional one….

So boy you walk on by and allow me to continue to drool at your perfection, your elegance… Basically your face :)
Allow me to like the idea of liking someone, especially you.