cuntflakes

[cuntflakes]

“the sun shone when you died nine o'clock on a thursday morning ten years old and i didn’t know what it meant to lose somebody i forced the tears to swell because i didn’t know so well i knew black was enough like death so i adorned my swollen stomach with black velvet and birds i spent the day making subtle jokes about oblivion i came home and i didn’t have a dad the sun shone the day we buried you it wasn’t cliche, and it didn’t rain i wore pink to the funeral and spent most of it watching television in the basement mom made sure to play peace in the valley during the service and i remember sobbing we left a peppermint patty with your body because you loved them so much and we loved you so much i went home and the notion of a dad was fading the sun still shone on your birthday eleven days later your voice was disappearing and so were your peppered whiskers i always remember being attacked by the tickle monster being pulled in a little red wagon being best friends with your best friends at work and painting my little room at your old house in our underwear easter morning egg hunts, fishing off of the porch into a grassy field, actually fishing and catching bigger fish than you stealing milky coffee out of your blue and white mug i remember being spoiled and being loved a bushel and a peck and ten thousand hugs around the neck i remember having a dad the sun shone two years ago when i took a boy to your grave and picked you flowers stolen from the meadow a dad is a notion i wish i had the sun shone today, still most days sometimes a little less bright i miss having a dad, a you now the tears are always there swelling like the sea caught by the sun”

— 2005, r.t., 04.17.15.

[cuntflakes]

natalie diaz, “manhattan is a lenape word”, postcolonial love poem

[cuntflakes]

hey me and champagne lips are dating now, it only took eight years and a lot of plot development hehe

“When you thought you had mastered the winter, it stole the boy who shone brightest. You coaxed the other out of dead-end relationships and fell into each others arms. It was all too quick, and he fell apart at his seams. You tried to stitch him up with his lips just as he tried to bury himself in yours. A year and a half later, you will still dream of his waltz, wet champagne lips, and dreamy eyes. Your chest might always heave for him, but it’s okay, it’s okay. You see that he’s happy now, and you don’t blame him, and you’re happy he didn’t rip himself apart, too. When you find out you aren’t exclusive with the boy down the hall, you will clench your throat and scream out to whoever above and below, but you will wake in the morning knowing you were never promised more than this and no one is to blame. It’s okay, it’s okay. You are valid in your pain caused by the boy in blue, whose hands traced miracles on your skin. He never quite knew how to put into words where you were, how to say, “Don’t love me, not yet.” It’s possible that you will get your heart broken too many times to count. You will lose yourself in others dreams. Your brittle bones will fall apart, but with brick and mortar and flames licking at your ankles, you will rise again. You’re okay, you’re okay. Everybody’s life has got this static, the in betweenness of heartache. It’s hard to tell whether it’s always the end or the beginning. But know that in the middle of the night, no matter how hard it hurts, you will be okay. You will be okay.”

— about boys and heartache, r.t. 09.15.15 (via rayetrippett)

[cuntflakes]

Allegory of Vanity (Details), 1632-6. by Antonio de Pereda y Salgado

[cuntflakes]

dark academic YA + adult books, for the reader who doesn’t enjoy the old classics:

the raven cycle — maggie stiefvater (YA)

welsh kings, magic forests, obsessive research, private schools.

wilder girls — rory power (YA)

lord of the flies retelling, all-girls boarding school, remote island.

six of crows — leigh bardugo (YA)

murder, crime, heists, magic.

truly devious — maureen johnson (YA)

murder mystery, eccentric students, elite boarding school, 1900s

the night circus — erin morgenstern (A)

magical circus, mysterious psychics, mind games, star crossed love.

the diviners — libba bray (YA)

1920s new york city, wlw + mlm rep, ace rep, occult magic, mysterious museums

vicious — v.e. schwab (A)

an experiment gone wrong, blackout poetry, rivals, strange powers

the cruel prince — holly black (YA)

FAERIES, enemies to lovers, political power struggles, another magic forest

station eleven — emily st. john mandel (A)

shakespeare, thespians, post-apocalyptic wasteland

serpent & dove — shelby mahurin (YA)

witches, french backdrop, 1880s, enemies to lovers, WITCHES

feel free to add on!

[cuntflakes]

{❀} / Maria Grazia Marrulli

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@piiii0420/instagram

[cuntflakes]

I always get so fucking mad when I remember that it’s actually a 16-year-old Algerian girl who influenced BOTH Picasso and Matisse. and. No one gives a rat’s ass about her work which was very focused on women and nature. History -or people dare I say- didn’t bother to remember her name because she was a young Algerian woman and no one cares about Maghrebi/Arab women. unlike P*casso & M*tisse who both became legends, almost gods both during their lives and after their deaths, no one knows her.

Her name was Baya Mahieddine.

[cuntflakes]

[cuntflakes]

“I am evil. I am the filth goddess Tlazolteotl. I am the swallower of sins. The lust goddess without guilt. The delicious debauchery. You bring out the primordial exquisiteness in me. The nasty obsession in me.”

— Sandra Cisneros, “You Bring Out the Mexican in Me”(via hush-syrup)

[cuntflakes]

“sext: it is a humid night in july. we undress each other in the back of your car and form one mound of sweaty flesh. sext: fireflies fall on your skin. i kiss the trail they leave to find your light. sext: we share a bath and come out dripping each other. sext: the atomic bomb is not as loud as my heartbeat when you lie next to me. sext: come over, i want to taste moonlight when it’s licked off your skin. sext: we undo each other and come back together in one hot flash of light. sext: you burn over everyone else’s touch. sext: they dust me for fingertips and find nothing but your claw marks. sext: the sound of your teeth digging into my bare skin and my moans are the most beautiful duet. sext: you are 48% water. i would be happy to drown in you. sext: you are the poem i will spend my whole life trying to write.”

— “sext: you” - Lora Mathis (via underyourweather) happy valentine’s day (via lora-mathis)

[cuntflakes]

“I will remember the kisses our lips raw with love and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me, and I will remember your small room the feel of you the light in the window your records your books our morning coffee our noons our nights our bodies spilled together sleeping the tiny flowing currents immediate and forever your leg my leg your arm my arm your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again.”

— Charles Bukowski (via quotes-shape-us)

[cuntflakes]

““In any other circumstance I would have loved you with all my heart.” She told him. “I would have held your hand and gone for long walks in the streets at night, and fallen asleep under the stars to the sound of crickets and birdsong. "In any other circumstance I would have given you every part of me a thousand times over unconditionally, with no regrets and no hesitation. ” He looked at her as if she’d taken a knife to his throat. “In any other circumstance…” He echoed. She was silent. “We would have been good, I think.” She started, but stopped herself from finishing. She had wanted to explain it all, but what was the use? She had wanted to tell him it wasn’t all in his head, that it had meant something, but there was little point. So instead, she just said, “I hope you find somebody infinitely better. You deserve it.””

— Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #26 (via blossomfully)

[cuntflakes]

sexts:

sext: you look so good in those jeans I want to invite you over to eat ice cream.

sext: We could share a bath and come out dripping each other.

sext: Come over, I want to taste moonlight when it’s licked off your skin.

sext: I am a boiling burner, you are a pot of water. You'll get hot on top of me until I make you overflow.

sext: The atomic bomb is not as loud as my heartbeat when you lie next to me.

sext: The sound of your teeth digging into my bare skin and my moans is the most beautiful duet.

sext: You burn over everyone else’s touch.

sext: They'll dust me for fingertips and find nothing but your claw marks.

sext: Park your car by the elementary school, I want to count your ribs with my mouth.

sext: I put my tongue in your ear and out of your mouth comes a breathy song of "more more more."

sext: You undo me and I come back in one hot flash of light.

sext: We treat having sex like diving off a moving sail boat. You taste like sunscreen and sea salt. As soon as it's done, I want you again.

sext: You leave crisscrossed scratch marks on my back to keep yourself from being loud. In the locker room the next day, someone asks me if I've been hurt and all I can do is moan your name.

sext: You are 48% water. I would be happy to drown in you.

sext: I moaned to the thought of you tickling my inner thighs long before your mouth was anywhere near mine.

sext: I want to use my tongue to explore all of your secrets.

sext: I want to let you know how you good you feel in a song of moans and pants.

sext: I want your tongue spelling out secrets on my skin. I want your fingers tickling me from within. I want your eyelashes letting me know where you’ve been.

sext: I want to write a poem that sounds as good as you taste.

sext: You are the poem I will spend my whole life trying to write.

sext: Even your bony wrists turn me on.

[cuntflakes]

“The bed creaks. It wasn’t meant to be shared. My walls are mint green and your eyes are so brown. I can feel your fingers around my neck and trailing up my thigh. Your teeth are sinking into my collarbone and I want you to draw blood. I know this love will kill me. I tell you to choke me harder.”

— NOX, Venetta O. (via medeae)

[cuntflakes]

“The smell of your hair puts my stomach in knots. I want to lay roses at your feet. I want to pray at the church of your hands. I want to thank you for every awful thing you ever did to me. No one will ever be able to knock the wind out of me again. Not like that. Not like you.”

— “Thank You” Trista Mateer (via tristamateer)