thepreppybisweptualbisexual-blog

[thepreppybisweptualbisexual-blog]

[thepreppybisweptualbisexual-blog]

I think we should start putting less pressure on gay people to ‘come out’ and more pressure on straight people to stop assuming everyone’s sexuality is fucking straight

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This poem isn’t about how much I like you It’s about how much I like food Okay

- Brunch, Adobo Fish Sauce

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Oh shit

if you kiss my neck you might as well just take all my clothes off too

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Oh gay?

Raging lesbian.

[thepreppybisweptualbisexual-blog]

Mirror

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. Whatever you see I swallow immediately Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike. I am not cruel, only truthful--- The eye of a little god, four-cornered. Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall. It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers. Faces and darkness separate us over and over. Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me, Searching my reaches for what she really is. Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon. I see her back, and reflect it faithfully. She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands. I am important to her. She comes and goes. Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness. In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

[thepreppybisweptualbisexual-blog]

This girlchild was born as usual and presented dolls that did pee-pee and miniature GE stoves and irons and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy. Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said: You have a great big nose and fat legs. She was healthy, tested intelligent, possessed strong arms and back, abundant sexual drive and manual dexterity. She went to and fro apologizing. Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs. She was advised to play coy, exhorted to come on hearty, exercise, diet, smile and wheedle. Her good nature wore out like a fan belt. So she cut off her nose and her legs and offered them up. In the casket displayed on satin she lay with the undertaker's cosmetics painted on, a turned-up putty nose, dressed in a pink and white nightie. Doesn't she look pretty? everyone said. Consummation at last. To every woman a happy ending.

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Why does she have to be so pretty, damn it? It's hardly my fault!

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

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Nothing in the world is harder than candor, and nothing easier than flattery

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment 

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Thank Heaven! the crisis, The danger, is past, And the lingering illness Is over at last— And the fever called "Living" Is conquered at last. Sadly, I know I am shorn of my strength, And no muscle I move As I lie at full length— But no matter!—I feel I am better at length. And I rest so composedly, Now, in my bed, That any beholder Might fancy me dead— Might start at beholding me, Thinking me dead. The moaning and groaning, The sighing and sobbing, Are quieted now, With that horrible throbbing At heart:—ah, that horrible, Horrible throbbing! The sickness—the nausea— The pitiless pain— Have ceased, with the fever That maddened my brain— With the fever called "Living" That burned in my brain. And oh! of all tortures That torture the worst Has abated—the terrible Torture of thirst For the naphthaline river Of Passion accurst:— I have drank of a water That quenches all thirst:— Of a water that flows, With a lullaby sound, From a spring but a very few Feet under ground— From a cavern not very far Down under ground. And ah! let it never Be foolishly said That my room it is gloomy And narrow my bed; For man never slept In a different bed— And, to sleep, you must slumber In just such a bed. My tantalized spirit Here blandly reposes, Forgetting, or never Regretting, its roses— Its old agitations Of myrtles and roses: For now, while so quietly Lying, it fancies A holier odor About it, of pansies— A rosemary odor, Commingled with pansies— With rue and the beautiful Puritan pansies. And so it lies happily, Bathing in many A dream of the truth And the beauty of Annie— Drowned in a bath Of the tresses of Annie. She tenderly kissed me, She fondly caressed, And then I fell gently To sleep on her breast— Deeply to sleep From the heaven of her breast. When the light was extinguished, She covered me warm, And she prayed to the angels To keep me from harm— To the queen of the angels To shield me from harm. And I lie so composedly, Now, in my bed, (Knowing her love) That you fancy me dead— And I rest so contentedly, Now in my bed (With her love at my breast). That you fancy me dead— That you shudder to look at me, Thinking me dead:— But my heart it is brighter Than all of the many Stars in the sky, For it sparkles with Annie— It glows with the light Of the love of my Annie— With the thought of the light Of the eyes of my Annie. 

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My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desperate now approve Desire is death, which physic did except. Past cure I am, now reason is past care, And frantic-mad with evermore unrest; My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are, At random from the truth vainly express'd; For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

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“To the untrue man, the whole universe is false, - it is impalpable, - it shrinks to nothing within his grasp. And he himself, in so far as he shows himself in a false light, becomes a shadow, or, indeed, ceases to exist.”

- Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter

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“is there a problem officer?” “yes actually, lots of problems” *hands u my math homework*

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If you think you’re bi for a month or a year or your whole life and then realize you’re a lesbian, that’s fine!!

If you think you’re a lesbian for a month or a year or your whole life and then realize you’re bi, that’s also fine!!

Figuring out your sexuality is a long and complicated process, and things can change. It doesn’t mean you were lying, faking, or anything like that, and if anyone says otherwise they’re wrong and also horrible. Girls who like girls are cool no matter what your history is

[thepreppybisweptualbisexual-blog]

Pain changes people, it makes them trust less, overthink more, and shut people out.

Unknown (via deeplifequotes)