My roommate and I’s apartment dynamic consists of 100% art making, 95% nudity, and 25% of food I scavenge from school events. 

Ig:kiraaa_j

Yellow artsy mlm for anon

Visited the record store 🌻

please, keep writing. keep drawing. keep painting. please keep making your art no matter how many may try to push you down. the world does not have nearly enough artists. 

reblogging for the last story

Jacqueline Woodson, Brown Girl Dreaming (via books-n-quotes)

Even the silence has a story to tell you. Just listen. Listen.

I'm obsessed with the feeling of my lover's naked body grazing my own. The raw feeling of emotion and his fiery skin which gives me a sense of warmth that no other can. The kind of warmth that is permanently burned into my existence, that leaves me breathless and satisfyingly unsatisfied.

g.c.d, an extract from a story I’ll probably never write

QUEEN

@magistera requested: Diana + faceless

Late night confessions

Im sure that one day im going to get in a fight and someone will try to choke me and im going to be grinning like the kinky bastard I am and freak them the fuck out.

12|10 pink on pink on pink….i had a really good day at uni, having engaging discussions with your peers//teachers is such a pleasure & makes me grateful to be a student everyday!

drunkvanity:

shout out to the girls that hate their bodies but are trying really really hard to find the beauty and comfort in them because that shit is hard and takes a lot of time and is emotionally exhausting. i’m proud of y’all.

His love is but a rose upon your weary skin; Harsh thorns piercing desperate grasps Closing, tightening, constricting — pain. But pain is of the essence in its pollen, Infringing your senses, Suffocating you until there’s nothing left to choke on. Though fear of suffocation is eradicated by the beauty of such a flora. Its sensual petals red as bloodshed caused by its thorns, Its marginalised, unglorified leaves rough yet just as powerful, Though as they fall when time permits, All that’s left is but the wretched thorns and corpse of such a beauteous thing. But the remnants of said corpse shall not be feared. Grieved for, sure, but time forbids the lack of healing. The healing of wounds inflicted by vices. And alas, the very vices that tore you kindled a renaissance. They planted seeds in you, As yet another rose shall blossom into yet another weed. Into your heart, your body, your mind, your soul. It shall not end. It shall not be feared. It shall prevail.

It Shall Prevail

im crying