i know a lot of people have mentioned this, but i’m just obsessed with the way taylor refused to sanitize herself on this album. she’s telling you everything. she got off to gross men whilst already in another relationship. she fell for the most obvious lies because she wanted to believe them. she was mad at anyone who tried to warn her. yes, she’s still mad at you for clutching your pearls and watching her like a circus animal btw. she’s having his baby—no she’s not! she just likes trolling. she does really want babies, though. like a lot. she felt like she’d been abducted by aliens and found cosmic love, but in reality, she was manic. and then he fucking ghosted her! and he didn’t even measure up in any measure of a man!!!!! and now she’s devastated by him and his predecessor! she feels like a wondrous prophet one day and the desperate victim of a curse the next. btw he knows how to ball and she knows aristotle. and fuck kim k! also man sex with certain men kinda fucked her up, but at least the writing that came from it defined her legacy. the manuscript isn’t hers anymore. she hopes this insane ass manuscript won’t have to be hers, either! free her of these stories.
I noticed alot of content surrounding homelessness especially in San Fransisco and Seattle. My biggest fear is being filmed without my consent and being plastered over social media because someone wanted to make a documentary surrounding homelessness without actually helping.
The smallest catalyst can occur to where someone can find themselves homeless. In my case it was my glasses breaking. Not having a back up pair. Not having insurance. Which caused me to be unable to work and drive. Resulting in me losing my job. A piece of plastic was my downfall ultimately.
I need community effort to stay housed. Even $1-2 for everyone who views this clears the goal. Please interact if you truly have nothing to spare. Reblogs ≠ do not equate to goals being met so please ask if curious wether goal has been met.
THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT 📜
And so I enter into evidence my tarnished coat of arms. My muses, acquired like bruises. My talismans and charms. The tick, tick, tick of love bombs. My veins of pitch black ink. All’s fair in love and poetry.