Bein Able To Reblog Posts Of Deleted Tumblr Accounts Is Absolutely The Best Feature Here

“I think women like to read about murderous mothers and lost little girls because it’s our only mainstream outlet to even begin discussing female violence on a personal level. Female violence is a specific brand of ferocity. It’s invasive. A girlfight is all teeth and hair, spit and nails — a much more fearsome thing to watch than two dudes clobbering each other. And the mental violence is positively gory. Women entwine. Some of the most disturbing, sick relationships I’ve witnessed are between long-time friends, and especially mothers and daughters. Innuendo, backspin, false encouragement, punishing withdrawal, sexual jealousy, garden-variety jealousy — watching women go to work on each other is a horrific bit of pageantry that can stretch on for years. Libraries are filled with stories on generations of brutal men, trapped in a cycle of aggression. I wanted to write about the violence of women. […] I particularly mourn the lack of female villains — good, potent female villains…I’m talking violent, wicked women. Scary women. Don’t tell me you don’t know some. The point is, women have spent so many years girl-powering ourselves — to the point of almost parodic encouragement — we’ve left no room to acknowledge our dark side. Dark sides are important. They should be nurtured like nasty black orchids.”

— Gillian Flynn, “I Was Not a Nice Little Girl”

Half of the words I left unsaid could be heard if he could read my eyes.

"Forgive me, for all the things I did but mostly for the ones that I did not.” (ouch)

The secret history by Donna Tart

If We Were Villains by M. L. Rio

No one talks about the transition from being the girl everyone respected too much to come forward to and the girl that everyone desires. To feel like you are never someone's first choice, just a woman they would eventually settle for. To never be the girl they passionately, intensely ache for. To be the one they're afraid to taint. The one they will compromise with. To be the girl that becomes the mother of their child, but never their love.

And suddenly, suddenly you're the girl of their desires. The one with a free spirit and reckless behaviors and self-sabotaging actions. The one that hates herself so much, she throttles her own soul to fit an ideal image of what a man yearns for. To be savage and soft, simultaneously. To gaze at a man like a siren and never admit to being hurt.

No one talks about how you slowly feel both of these girls within you amalgamate. So achingly, so abruptly, you feel yourself spiralling out of control. You jump, face first, infront of a moving train, you wrench your heart inside of your chest. You swallow the thought of not being loved. There is a perpetual knock at the base of your mind of someone burning to come out, to be heard, to be felt, to be accepted.

You either become the trophy wife, or the girl they never wed. No one talks about girls like us.

you’re in his dms, the thought of me haunts him to death

Please befriend me ♡

Reblog if it's okay to befriend you, ask questions, ask for advice, rant, vent, let something off your chest, or just have a nice chat.

please, please and please.

  ― Pablo Neruda, One Hundred Love Sonnets

[text ID: I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, / in secret, between the shadow and the soul.]

“i read the book you recommended” is a love language.

Brother

TW: CSA

Tell me how does darkness feeds on an unsullied soul;

Am I the one to be blamed for your viciousness?

Or was it the gratuity of my parents' sins?

Or was it the ode of innocence that tempted you?

An ode you consumed.

You shredded me to ribbons so that you could use them

to tie the knots of your selfish yearnings;

Morphed me into an infernal machine in the pursuit

of your eternal fantasy.

Unbloomed; I was cradled in the soft bed of childhood

Yet, you stripped me away from that delectation;

And impelled me into the wretched abyss of unholiness.

Suffocated I was, as you took advantage of a frail heart,

and ruptured it from its hollow.

Yet I am the one they blame, I blame.

For being tainted, ruined.

Abhorrence filled in their gazes.

But, if to taint me is to ruin me, then let the gods be blamed for bestowing such wickedness on my existence,

For I was nothing but a child,

Slaughtered because of vulnerability and pestering naivety.

Tell me why does darkness feed on an unsullied soul, brother?

look, i know i'll get through it because i've gotten this far already, but i don't want to. i don't want to continue to work hard, i don't want to push through, i don't even want any reassurance. i just want rest. let me rest. why is rest so hard to come by?