Glit is Paint

bigender multisoul chimeric being of light occupying feminine space


Ask me anything  
Reblogged from wordsthat-speak
Comparing yourself to others is an act of violence against your authentic self. Iyanla Vanzant (via wordsthat-speak)

(via brittanysimon)

Reblogged from jopolniaczek

knowledgeequalsblackpower:

mrjynntastic:

one of my fav scenes to be honest, cause lawd knws if they allowed black folks in the league maaaaaaan listen, alot of what ifs possiblities 

This film, “A League of Their Own” dedicates so many scenes to issues like sexism.

Yet, blink too fast and you’ll miss this short scene…the one that shows how Black women were barred from the league.

The Black woman is supposed to represent Mamie “Peanut” Johnson (who actually did try out for the league). She wasn’t allowed to play and went on to be one of the few women to play with men in the Negro League. 

I WOULD LOVE TO SEE A FILM ABOUT JOHNSON AND THE OTHER WOMEN WHO PLAYED FOR THE NEGRO LEAGUE! But Hollywood …

(Source: jopolniaczek, via lips-richmond)

Reblogged from psych-facts
The capacity to be alone is the capacity to love. It may look paradoxical to you, but it’s not. It is an existential truth: only those people who are capable of being alone are capable of love, of sharing, of going into the deepest core of another person—without possessing the other, without becoming dependent on the other, without reducing the other to a thing, and without becoming addicted to the other. They allow the other absolute freedom, because they know that if the other leaves, they will be as happy as they are now. Their happiness cannot be taken by the other, because it is not given by the other. Osho (via psych-facts)
Reblogged from sashakurmaz

I just need space
I said
To the one
Who is nothing
But the gaps between stars.

I just need space
I said
Knowing space is cold
And I only thrive
In warmth

I just need space
I said to the sky
Praying I’d rise off
My feet tonight

this is how i leave you.

I stood in the empty hallwall looking at our half constructed life together and I thought, in a wiz of alchemy “this - is how I leave you” And I moved hurridly through the hall, grabbing half parts of myself And I fell to my knees, and I wrote a poem promising to always be in the air you breath “this - is how I leave you” I leave you as you rise from a drunken haze, promising it is time for you to be a man telling me it is unfair that I ask that you stay dry around me. “this - is how I leave you” I leave you quickly and quietly, retrieving my things when you aren’t there refusing to look into your cloud gray black hole eyes that I might fall into them again. “this is how I leave you” You write me saga after saga into my dying phone about how this won’t destroy you because of you learned from me and it makes me wish I could destroy you, that you hadn’t taken that strength from me. “this is how I leave you” I leave you by blocking the intention of out of my mind, my ambitions, much like how you prepared the perfect drink but never planned on hurting yourself or raping me. “I’ll be back in a few days” “this is how I leave you” I walk with two heavy pink bags, an oversized sweater and my novel I could never write around you in a binder in my hands thinking about how poetic this is, but that I can’t find the strength to write about it “this is how I leave you” with less than what I started with with more than I had bargained for with hasty steps and a true belief that life can change that it was not some trap I was bound forever too as you cling to permance, that your disability IS you. “this is how I leave you” screaming till I’m out the door, at a job interview within minutes, composed knowing, deeply, truely, that its on me to take care of myself I don’t want your pity inducing helplessness anymore “this is how I leave you” with a smile on my face and no promise of return I said a few days, a few weeks, forever. “this is how I leave you” no longer willing, to be your prisoner anymore.

Unfiltered poem - trigger warnings for alcoholism, rape, controlling partners, domestic violence, rape, slapping, self-harm, scat.

-

when did my ears start ringing?

I noticed it most when I slapped myself in front of you,
trying to get through to you, what every glass of alcohol you drank that night did to me
you sent me a text the next day, after I had packed my essentials and ran away
pitying me with your soft gentle voice about how confused you were about seeing me in so much pain.
not grasping that you caused it, not remembering how the night before
I had to sit on you for hours, having conversations with a void, begging you
to put down that blade that you ached to cut yourself with, 
like you did that night in front of me, so many months before
when you got me too drunk to stop you.
Your words shifted in their tone, from pity to anger to scorn
HOW DARE I not be there for you when you needed me most
when you’ve worked so hard to change
HOW DARE I leave you over just one night
when I’d passed three strikes, I’d given you five.
When did my ears start ringing?
Like a birds beckon in the forest
As I slapped myself in front of you
I started to remember…
the spiralling times
with hope filled lies
the chains and the pain
and hickies from which I bled
the indistinction between what i said i wanted
and came to you as instinctive, divine
It was, an other worldly plan, you and I
I knew I was helpless, I believed you were too,
helpless to whims of gods where my confidence was shattered
and my knees were weakened, and I believed we could make it work.
I knew two months ago it was dead, as you yelled about my cruelty,
insisting it was fine that I walk around nude. when I closed the door
to your masturbation, and you said that was aggressive.
Aggressive of me to not want a part of your sexuality anymore
as you cried to be a part of mine, running like a puppy whose master came home
as I flushed my shit down the toilet. That you appreciated that, that I should save it for you to worship
Suddenly, nothing was mine, it was tilted on a confused axis, like the energy within was altered\
You were clumsy over my things and I was nothing but piles of junk mixed with yours,
I hate you.
And every time my ears ring,
I remember when it started,
When I was slapped in the morning 
and chained to a chair, told not to move.
When the oxygen left my brain as you chocked me out like I had been so intimately chocked before,
My ears started ringing, like a far off drum and gets louder and louder
as the dissonance shatters.
I am so grateful for the ringing in my ears,
telling me to leave you.
Reblogged from assassinationtipsforladies

theroguefeminist:

assassinationtipsforladies:

Every dudebro who says these women shouldn’t have taken private nude photos on themselves and then put them on a secure, private server if they didn’t want everyone in the world to see them should have to have every message they have ever sent on OKC dramatically read to their boss, mom, and granny

and all the dick pics they’ve sent to unwilling people featured in an art gallery with all their family and friends invited

Reblogged from newlyemmett

newlyemmett:

Let’s just be clear about something:

  •  unintentional racism is still racist
  •  unintentional homophobia is still homophobic
  •  unintentional ableism is still ableist
  •  unintentional transphobia is still transphobic

Just because someone doesn’t realize that what they are saying is horrible doesn’t make it not horrible. if you say something unintentionally bigoted it does not mean that you get a free pass, it means that clearly you hold bigoted viewpoints even if you don’t realize it, and if you are actually interested in not being a douche nugget you will accept that you said something horrible and apologize for it without saying “well it’s okay that I said that thing because I didn’t realize what I was saying.” 

(via strychninequeen)

Reblogged from jackthebard

sim0nbaz:

foxsan:

shuttersmiley:

sourcedumal:

jackthebard:

Just remember. There is no such thing as a fake geek girl.
There are only fake geek boys.
Science fiction was invented by a woman.

image

Specifically a teenage girl. You know, someone who would be a part of the demographic that some of these boys are violently rejecting.

Isaac Asimov.

yo mary shelley wrote frankenstein in 1818 and isaac asimov was born in 1920 so you kinda get my point

(via general-anxiety)