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I just joined Farmasi as an Entrepreneur today! I can't wait to get my starter pack and the few products I also purchased! I'll be going live on Facebook when I receive my new makeup, and I'll share the video here! Check out their site on https://www.farmasius.com/ZoeMalone https://www.instagram.com/p/B_wG5ninn2p/?igshid=47ktlbih2hti

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I hope this ticket imbues you with some new year energy! I feel like a new year brings about more motivation and positivity, and there’s no reason we shouldn’t have more of that now. 🎉

Chibird 2020 Calendar | Patreon | Webtoon

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start every day with a goal in mind to make the world a kinder place ❤️

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Ecosocialist praxis

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Emma Hartley

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A Glimpse

I promise it's just a story, I apologize for the dark places my imagination goes.

She stared at herself in the grimy, cracked mirror. She didn't look at the long, carefully plaited chestnut braid hanging down to her waist. She didn't see the strands of hair starting to come free, framing her face. She didn't look at the cracks in her light pink lipstick, or at the eyebrows she had drawn on so carefully that morning. She didn't look at her shoes, simple black stiletto ankle boots barely an inch tall.

She didn't look at the stylishly ripped jeans, the ones she spent months saving up to get with the dark wash and the gems cautiously scattered on all the pockets. She didn't look at the black tank top starting to show underneath the loose, flowy red long sleeve, or at the small silver chain with the rose pendant hanging from her neck.

She didn't look at the matching earrings dangling from her ears, or at the row of studs dotting up one ear. She didn't look at the new piercing, a bar through the top cartilage of the other ear. She didn't think about how she saved up all the money for the earrings, or about the infections after piercing them all herself. She didn't think about the set of rose jewelry, the ones her father got her before he.. Before her mother followed..

She didn't look at the mascara running down her face, leaving streaks of black on her already pale skin. She didn't look at the bruises starting to smart against her defined cheekbones. She didn't look at the weight she had lost from her already thin frame. She didn't think about the food that didn't exist, in the fridge she didn't have.

She didn't look at the fine blade in her hand. She didn't look at the blood running down it. She felt the blood running down the cool skin of her stomach as she gripped the cool metal tighter. She didn't even glance down, or wince at the pain as she put in the new belly button ring, the one she got from a girl at school.

Her original intention was to give her hair a trim when she got home that day, before the cool piece of metal was pressed into her hand. She screwed on the little ball, still without looking or grimacing. She didn't fear pain, she relished it. She enjoyed the physical pain. It grounded her, stole her thoughts away from the emotional pain she could never run from.

She wondered..

It wasn't the first time she thought of it.

She unbuttoned the new jeans, the ones she had spent so long to save up for. She tugged them down a bit, yanking on the belt loops until they were closer to her knees, until those stylish rips were hidden. She gripped the blade tighter. Dare she?

She moved the knife closer to herself again. She had no more little pieces of metal for this one. How could she have a reason for this one?

She felt along the inside of her thigh with her fingertips. She felt the long, smooth stroke of her nails glide across the already broken skin. She felt the scabs from last week, her last piercing. The last time she held this blade. She looked down now, staring at the white marks crisscrossing each other and slowly fading, shrinking in width as they arced from one side to the other of the top of her shrinking thigh.

She watched herself bring the thin blade closer. She felt the cool metal against her warm skin again, this time already wet. She pushed, feeling the pressure. She pushed a little harder against the blade, gripping it tighter until her knuckles turned white and the sharp edge pierced her palm.

She knew this feeling well, it had become her closest friend in the past years since she became an orphan. She visited it once a week. Every single Friday for three years. It was one of the few things she had left, this blade, this friend.

The material things she had saved for, were traded for by the things her parents had left behind. The fridge was the first to go. Then couch, and the chairs. Their bed. All the things that held too many memories of her past. She didn't want to remember those happy nights spent playing games in the living room. She didn't want to remember the bad memories either, from when her father picked up the bottle again.

She became an artist at makeup, covering up the bruises left on her face and on her mother's sides and back. She became a medic, skilled at sewing the skin back together after the belt broke it. She handed her mother the bottle first, numbing her body before the needle and thread went back and forth in the rhythmic motion they became accustomed to. She sewed up her mother, before sewing up herself. It sobered her.

She continued sewing the skin long after the bottle killed them both. Before she found the thin blade. She sewed herself apart and together night after night, remembering, refusing to forget the nights spent shedding useless tears as she listened to the crack of the belt against her mother's back, waiting for her turn.

She began to sew herself up after making too deep scars with the blade. Then she put the needle and thread away when she discovered where and how deep to make the cuts before it was too much. She let everything go, but the memories still stayed.

And so the cuts moved to more easily hidden places, where they could be deeper without death ensuing.

She stared back up at the mirror, to her original point of fixation. She stared into the broken eyes that always stared back. She didn't look at the bright blue, nor did she look at the blue, black and silver coloring just above. She looked into the soul of those broken eyes, the ones that always showed such pain and suffering. Where the dark consumed the light, and the light never escaped.

She knew people would talk if the dark consumed the rest of her, so she kept it at bay, hiding it away behind those eyes.

But she was starting to forget about others. She was starting to ignore the stares and whispers that followed her everywhere. She was starting to ignore the opinions and rumors flying around her.

She stared into those eyes, the eyes poring into her as the blade dug deeper, and as the blood began to trickle and pour out of the growing line. Those eyes were her only solace as she brought the blade to her throat. She knew it would be far more than just minutes or hours before she was found in the abandoned house with no lights, where two others had lost their lives not 5 years before.

The murder-suicide had brought infamy to her, and she could only continue the legacy. It didn't matter that no one spoke to her after that day, that she was avoided like the Black Plague. It didn't matter how nicely she dressed, or how appealing she tried to make herself look. Yet she dropped her hand, and put her jeans back on right as the blood soaked through. She fixed her hair, framing the fallen pieces along her beautiful, yet broken face intentionally.

She wiped off the still-wet streaks of mascara, leaving the eyeshadow and lipstick in tact. Then she stared back into those broken eyes as the darkness spread along with the blood seeping out of her neck. She pushed harder, willing herself to die, and willing herself to leave this hell for one more easier to deal with.

Collapsing on the floor, there was no change of light in the already darkening room, and there was no sound to be heard as the little blood left gurgled from her throat as she took in her last few breaths. She wondered if she should try to say any last words as the life slowly drained from inside her, but what would be the point when she was alone?

She wondered, 'Does a dying girl saying her last words even make a ripple in the big pond of the world, if there's no one around to hear, to see, or even to notice?'.

The last drips of blood made that ripple no one would see as the puddle spread around her long chestnut braid, blending in with her blouse, and gliding across the hardwood floor before coming to a rest not inches from the door of the room.

She woke up in a puddle of sweat, screaming for the parents that weren't there. She could never imagine taking her own life.. But in her dreams.. No, her nightmares.. There it was.. Every night.. And she began to save up for those dark wash jeans, the ones with the stylish rips and the sparingly used gems on all the pockets, and she made her first piercing...

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Karina Elle

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Freshman year of college I was in a philosophy class and I was giving some sort of group presentation. The prof asked my group “what do you think is your purpose in life?” And none of them really had an answer while I just said “to make the world a better place for those who come after us” because in my mind that’s just the obvious answer. The prof looked kind of taken aback that I just had an answer on the ready and was like “Why? What’s your motivation?”

In that moment I realized I was in front of a lecture hall of privileged students. I was surrounded by people who didn’t know poverty or desperation like I had. I clawed my way here on scholarships while they were legacy kids or trust fund babies. In that moment it clicked in my head that there’s this level of empathy that you can only gain when you have absolutely nothing to lose. A level of empathy that only the impoverished have. A level of empathy that screams out that you have to fight to make things better even if it doesn’t benefit you. It’s a concept that you can only really grasp when you have nothing to lose and the kids before me hadn’t known that pain. They hadn’t developed that kind of empathy.

My only answer that I could give the prof was “Why wouldn’t I?”

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@my mutuals

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it’s okay to have clumsy and awkward sex and it’s actually really common

the ability to laugh while you’re lying tangled and naked together bc you realize just how silly something is is really really intimate and trusting, and it’s the best feeling to be like that with someone and to be relaxed

it happens with long-term partners, it happens on hookups, and it’s rarely as bad as it’s always made out to be, except we usually think it’s bad we're told that’s not how sex is supposed to go. but that’s not true. 

it can still be passionate and intimate while being messy and clumsy, absolutely. you don’t need to “perform well.” sex isn’t a show: it’s about feeling good. sometimes it takes experimenting to figure out what feels good, and fumbles and awkward moments and laughter is all just part of it. sometimes that’s a huge part of the fun.

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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

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"Just like an endless cave with no light , like an abyss with a seat for me to stay."

Nothing is endless, everything must come to an end. You haven't found it yet, but it's there. Perhaps you just haven't gone far enough to find the light. Take the seat with you, you'll get tired on your journey and you'll need to take a few breaths and take a break every now and then, but you can't turn back once you start your journey. There will be rocks to climb, and there will be obstacles and demons and other monsters hiding in there with you. You don't have to fight them all, but some you will. This is why you'll bring the seat with you, because it would be so much more exhausting to fight a monster then turn back and start all over again, because if you turn back and start all over you have to fight those monsters again. So get to a point, take a break for awhile, you don't need to race along and fight them all in a day, or a week, or even a year. But take your time, make sure you kill the monsters, or at least put them in their place. Don't just knock them unconscious and keep going or they will come up again later and they will make alliances with other, stronger monsters that you'll have to fight and they will be stronger, harder to beat, or maybe they won't. Maybe they'll all be strong, or maybe the ones closer to light will be weakened by it. You might feel lost and all alone but you'll always have someone with you if you just call out for help. It won't be easy, it won't be fun. But the light will be so rewarding at the end, I promise it will make your quest worth it.

I will always be someone to call out to for help. This is my purpose on this earth. Even if you don't believe in a god, there is still a reason you exist. Something that you must do, that YOU feel you need to do. Some people may say it's your calling. Others simply call it a purpose. Mine is to help those who need it however I can, and most often that means being an ear to listen, or sometimes giving comforting words or words of advice. I've been through a lot of my own troubles and I've fought a lot of my own demons. I say this only because it has taught me to be empathetic. Not to pity someone because they have demons or poor life circumstances but to truly understand and feel their pain as if it were my own.

I do my best to be the kind of person who is a good friend to all, and to be the one who will listen no matter what. If my friends need me, I will stay up with them, talk to them on the phone, no matter the hour. This I say to anyone who needs just an open ear to vent to, I am here for you. You are not alone. I will listen, I will understand you not pity you. And nothing, not a single issue that you struggle with, is ever stupid. It's not pointless. If it's something to you, it's something for a reason. Regardless of the reason. You are special, you are absolutely amazing, you are beautiful. Because you are you, an individual human being. There is no one else like you in the entire world. Out of 7 billion people, you are UNIQUE. And that makes you wonderful, and absolutely awesome.