stardusttx:

grapewallofchina:

your life hasn’t been completed until you see giraffes fighting 

image

you’re welcome

i thought they were partying

artpopist:

*thinks about something i need to do for school*

image

spider-manofficial:

hindre:

leonkuwatas:

youreouttayourtree:

ladies dont start fights, but they can finish them.

that is a cat with a hairbow how is that relevant to the caption



Uncultured swine.

spider-manofficial:

hindre:

leonkuwatas:

youreouttayourtree:

ladies dont start fights, but they can finish them.

that is a cat with a hairbow how is that relevant to the caption

Uncultured swine.

dontactlikewewerenothing:

future-mrsboobear:

hahahaha

SO ACE VENTURA 😂

dontactlikewewerenothing:

future-mrsboobear:

hahahaha

SO ACE VENTURA 😂

When I’m absolutely determined to finish a meal
When friends are doing well in recovery and you’re struggling

byebyethinspo:

Notes to self:

1. Feeling full is not bad.

2. I deserve to enjoy and be nourished by the delicious holiday food.

3. Take deep breaths, I am not ED.

4. I am not my weight. I am so much more than my appearance.

5. I will not feel guilty for eating.

6. It’s okay to eat too much sometimes. I am not “bad” for eating.

7. I can take this one day at a time.

8. I don’t need to act a certain way in order to be entitled to support.

9. All food is good food.

10. I can do this.

You look healthy.

And by that I don’t mean you look fat.
I mean your face isn’t grey any more, the circles under your eyes aren’t so dark. Your lips aren’t cracked and dry and your hair isn’t thinning and brittle. I mean you seem more focused when I talk to you, You actually look at me and listen rather than being so unable to stay still or think about anything other than your illness that your eyes dart around the room and you nod manically the whole time I’m speaking. You seem calmer, stiller, quieter. You’re easier to have a joke with and you take things on board much more than you used to.
I mean you laugh now, you’re less serious. There’s life about you, it’s in your eyes and your smile, it’s in the way you speak and even in the way you go about your daily tasks. 

You look healthy. You look happy. It really, really suits you.

(via smile-in-possibility)

I like to pretend I am fine, now.
I look at chocolate cakes
and proclaim how delicious
they taste
while discussing my newfound love
of pasta.

I allow my scars to heal and
drown my bones in warm flesh,
refusing to be the friend who can’t decide
if she wants to keep herself alive
this week.

I run in circles and shout
how fine I am
when I need you more now
than I ever have

Sarah T. Healthy is when I need you most (via bravegirl-living)

Fucking this.

It’s about time I realised,
that what I put in my mouth
won’t change the words that come out of it
that the appearance of rib bones
will not make me laugh any louder
or any more,
that collarbones
and thigh gaps
and cheek bones
and empty stomachs
will not bring me any closer to
success
intelligence
friendship
or even love,
that a piece of cake
should not have the power
to make me despise myself,
and that
high grades
crazy nights
hard-earnt wages
a smile
should give more pride,
more satisfaction,
than starving myself ever should,
or will.
That there is no secret key to finding joy,
other than realising
that time is not worth wasting,
on living a half life.
(via thisisnotbeauty)
inkskinned:

"I honestly don’t plan on living to see next Christmas."

inkskinned:

"I honestly don’t plan on living to see next Christmas."

When I was six,
they told me not to let you
touch me where my
bathing suit covered.
I wondered what else I
was supposed to do besides
say “stop.” I wondered how
much trouble I would be in
when they found out the
games daddy liked to play.

When I was eight,
I was taught to hold my key
between my fingers
and glare.
I always wondered why
my best friend John
didn’t have to.
I always wondered what I
could do with some blunt metal
and fear coursing down through
my fingertips.

And when I was twelve
I was asked to pull
my shirt up.
My body was a burden and
I was an object that needed to
be covered up.
I didn’t mean to turn into
a woman- I covered my flesh with
apologies and tried to
reverse time.

So when I was fourteen
and taken down by the river-
when there were seven of them and
“stop” still held no meaning-
when my key was useless against the
tangle of hands and flesh and
sweat pressing against my
body (my burden,) it was
hard to believe I hadn’t
forgotten some rule.
It was hard to believe I hadn’t
“asked for it.”
With pain ripping through my skin
all I could think was
“I shouldn’t have worn a skirt
today.”

Boys will be boys,
but women must be
warriors; princesses.
We must be fierce but
fragile. We must be broken
but unbreakable. We must
be everything but nothing all
at once and learn to take
the blame.

I will no longer take the blame.
My body is not a war I should be made
to fight.
My existence is more than how to
survive.
Boys will be boys and
when they are I will show them just
what a woman is.
And I will not apologize.

(via feminugget)

This is perfect.