emotional abuse is when someone does something to hurt you, and when you express your feelings, that you’re upset, they turn it around to be something you did to hurt them and they force you to apologize for it, and your feelings, like always, are rendered invalid and silenced, forever damaging the ability to trust others with your feelings because they always are used against you.
this is important because so many people don’t know this
becauseforoncethisisme asked: How do you see people as how they are (the godkillers, the vicious dirty fighters) and still love them as you do?
HOW TO HAVE FAITH IN HUMANITY DESPITE ITS MANY SINS: A Non-Cohesive and Highly Subjective Answer in Five Parts
 The shortest answer is free will.
This answer is cheating, because it is the answer that says you don’t get the virtues, the art and nobility and courage and kindness, unless you also give people the option to be immoral, destructive, ignoble, cowardly, and cruel. It’s not multiple choice if there’s only one bubble on the scantron. And like boxes and apples and fire before it, people will choose those things, again and again, just because they’re easier, because they can. But a goodness that is compelled is not goodness.
 The second answer is that humans are mostly made up of broken bones and scar tissue and hurting. We are not born in a vacuum and the world is not always a kind place. Many people do to others what has been done to them. This is not an excuse, merely an explanation.
 You are not obligated to love everyone. You are definitely not obligated to like everyone. But if you’re not open to being surprised and delighted by people’s existence, their extraordinary mundane complexity, you’ll miss everyone too.
 Whoever said that one bad apple spoils the barrel really didn’t understand apples. This also applies to people.
 The last answer is also cheating. It says that if you try to determine whether humanity is worth saving by taking all the monsters the human race has produced—all the tyrants and serial killers and warlords and oppressors—and put them on one side of a great scale, filling the other side with all the saints, revolutionaries, and moral teachers, all those who serve the poor or help the needy, all the humble, honest people you can find, enough maybe, to save sodom…
…you have seriously missed the point of the whole endeavor.
i sat in the garden and wrote a stream-of-consciousness ramble.
“if you were a song
i’d listen to you on repeat
until my heart beat to your rhythm
and silence was a foreign tongue”
—litte something iii - k.o.g.
and I’ll hold … I’ll hold on to your touch'til there's nothing left of us
… save you from this life
BEING LIKED BY DOGS IS SO MUCH MORE IMPORTANT TO ME THAN BEING LIKED BY HUMANS.
Illustrations by Marco Mazzoni [artist on tumblr]
Italian pencil artist Marco Mazzoni‘s work goes far beyond technical perfection. His representation of historical healing women is enigmatic and sublime. Often leaving the eyes blank or covered with an abundance of birds, butterflies and flowers, he gives the impression of a deeper inward focused sight, as well as obscuring the identity of the individual.
Many female healers in the past – both medicine woman and midwives – were brutally persecuted by religion, some even burnt as witches… Mazzoni’s work captures their deep connection with nature and their innate power and femininity with delicacy and beautiful detail.
And I never knew what hell was, not truly, until I met you.
And I never knew what true love meant, how my blood would become so precious, even when it hurt pumping through my vital organs, even when it boiled as I buried sentiment and sweet notions of ever after beneath epochs of sediment and failure.
And I never knew how beautiful the underworld would be, until I waded thigh deep in you, until I swam through your storm and tread consequence just to be here. Just to taste your lightning, born from darkness, the thundering way you plow into me under my dress.
And I never knew the magnificence in me until you spoke the words like a song and tied me up in silk whispering “so mote it be” with stars dancing in your eyes and a sweet devil in your smile;
And I never knew loss until I felt you slip out of my hands and sheets by moonlight- (there is nothing quite like a mirror shattered, a beloved book burned) - but you were still here haunting my vigil in a solid form.And I never knew something broken could be healing, that an empty life could be filled with fire and not smolder, that a wave could hold and not drown a ticking heart and that bomb would disengage when it set its sights on the one.
And I just never knew, and here I am, fighting to shake this off like a fever, like the flu, like a bad fucking day but you are stuck to me like glue and gauze to keep my limbs intact for I am falling out of me at the thought of your precious face.
I am tied up and nailed to fictitious crosses. I am shaking in my armour. I am so small. And god won’t wake me up for he’s still fast asleep as well.”
—you, my heretical arch angel, heavensent and hellbent on me
🌸 ophelia indigo (via opheliaindigo)
Photographer Bing Wright‘s newest project, Broken Mirror/Evening Sky, is a series of images that capture the reflections of sunsets on shattered mirrors.
lying in bed staring at the ceiling wondering when you’ll finally be beside me