west coast dreams

farmer/poet/musician/homebody; they/them/their pronouns; unceded lekwungen territory (victoria, bc)

killifishes:

keep on becoming

(via heavymuffintop)

“For the dinner table.
For the men who have made you
believe that you are some place that can be left.
You move like a thief in a jewelry store,
always poised for an alarm, for
a mistake, and I don’t know how
to tell you that the diamonds are already yours.
For the coffee mug with your name on it.
For the yoga mat in the closet
that is forgetting your hands.
I want to be with you in the place where you have not made yourself small,
in the place where you still love my poetry and don’t smile like surrender.
For the home in your throat.
For your ankles.
For the prayer in your teeth.
I love you like freedom.
I love you like there is no room for anything else.
I love you like straight spine.
I wish you would stand up and meet me there.”

—   Caitlyn Siehl, For the Dinner Table (via alonesomes)

(via jessiedress)

“Lay your darkness down
in between us on the bed.
We will find a way
to wrap our arms around it,
to love each other through it.”

—   Peregrine (via youreyesblazeout)

(via mylovingyou)

“Don’t you dare
Shrink yourself
For someone else’s comfort -
Do not become small
For people who refuse to grow.”

—   m.v., Advice to my future daughter, #2. (via findingwordsforthoughts)

(via heavymuffintop)

stereocolours:

Endless Night
Adam Marshall Photography 

Prints | Tumblr | Facebook | Flickr

(via loveyourchaos)

“That’s the problem with putting others first; you’ve taught them you come second.”

—   (via angiellehcim)

(via loveyourchaos)

elenamorelli:

{head in the clouds}

(via loveyourchaos)

So, maybe we’re the
generation of the selfie,
but we’re also the generation
that grew up in a tainted,
Photoshopped world
with every impossible beauty standard
shoved down our throat
through a tube
because eating has become
a guilty pleasure
and condemning beauty ideals
won’t go straight to our thighs.

And if, by chance,
we are able to destroy the
demons that you’ve planted
inside of us with your
constant advertisements and rules
that play behind our eyelids and
take root in our brains,
then let us take our fucking pictures
and capture that moment when
we felt beautiful because all this world
has taught us is that
our beauty is the greatest
measure of our worth.

Scoff at our phones all you like,
these delicate extensions of
our fingers, but know that
through this technology
that you couldn’t even
begin to understand,
we have smudged the entire
world with our fingerprints.
We are the generation of knowledge,
and we are learning more than
any that came before us.
So, frown at my typing fingers;
I am using them to grasp power
by the throat.

Try to invalidate us,
but we’ve heard our
parents talking about
the world’s crashing and burning
since we had sprung from the womb.
We know you’ve fucked up,
and we’re angry about it-
the kind of anger that
fuels knowledge,
that I feel in my veins every time
I read the news from my phone
before school,
that sticks in my throat like honey
in a debate;
the kind of anger that simmers,
that sharpens teeth into daggers,
that makes this generation more dangerous
than you could have ever imagined.

We are the generation of change,
and goddammit, we’re coming.

—   Emily Palermo, An Open Letter to the Men Who Told Me to Stay Out of Adult Conversations (via starredsoul)

(via tangledupinlace)