Young men need to be socialized in such a way that rape is as unthinkable to them as cannibalism.

Mary Pipher, Clinical Psychologist and Author, Reviving Ophelia

(via svphie)

(Source: sunshine-machine)

Make sure you marry someone who laughs at the same things you do.

J.D.Salinger   (via fuckinq)

(Source: beaswellgirl)

feelitinyourbones:

wweird:

chasing-a-starlight:

Two mama cats who gave birth at the same time, co-mothering their eight new babies.
However, I prefer to think of them as a lesbian cat couple.

lesbian cat couple yes good

feelitinyourbones:

wweird:

chasing-a-starlight:

Two mama cats who gave birth at the same time, co-mothering their eight new babies.

However, I prefer to think of them as a lesbian cat couple.

lesbian cat couple yes good

(Source: )

Cosmos is a Greek word for the order of the universe. It is, in a way, the opposite of Chaos. It implies the deep interconnectedness of all things. It conveys awe for the intricate and subtle way in which the universe is put together.

Carl Sagan  (via bluishtigers)

(Source: rabbitinthemoon)

Birds scream at the top of their lungs in horrified hellish rage every morning at daybreak to warn us all of the truth, but sadly we don’t speak bird.

Kurt Cobain (via wearebarebones)

We gotta start teaching our daughters to be somebodies instead of somebody’s.

Kifah Shah (via zombiebondage)

(Source: ear2ear)

Birds born in a cage think flying is an illness.

Alejandro Jodorowsky (via blua)

(Source: theformofbeauty)

(Source: )

Here is the skin that you said you loved
draped over the back of the chair in the kitchen.
Here are the teeth. Here is the sternum, the
clavicle, the fibula. Here are the angel bones
laid out on top of the dresser like antique
jewelry. Here are the earlobes, the knobbly
elbows, the beauty mark near my temple
that always got a moan out of you. Here are
my thighs, my femur. All ten toes, all ten
fingers. My pubic bone, preserved and
wrapped in a velvet bag. Your name on the
tag. Your name on everything. Here is
the body that loved you. Here is the
heart, bloodied and wanting. Here are
those drunk voice mails, the sober texts.
Here is your promise of staying. Here
is the lonely hum in my brain where your
name used to be. Here is my spine. Here
is all the hollow. Here is all the longing. Here
is the heavy tongue, the scratchy vocal
chords. Here are all of the I love you’s.
Here is the shocking wreck of it all. Here is
how you were closer to me than my bones,
my skin. Here is the quiet city, your empty
side of the bed. Here is the empty. Here is not
knowing whether you loved me or not. Here is
the poem that can’t save us. Here.

Kristina H., “On Missing You” (via suiicune)

(Source: fleurishes)