lasergunsandcongodrums:

Diamonds on me dancing

IG: @Zarinahnadiyah

make up by @jewelmua

photography by Spencer Charles

@beccahuman

I may be losing this blog - I’ve been putting off changing the email connected to this account because it’s old and deactivated, but I didn’t because im a fool, and now I’ve been logged out and told it’s time to change my password. Tumblr support reckon they can’t help me and I’m only logged in on the app, where it seems like there’s no place to change your email address.

I’ve had this blog for 6 years, I’ve met friends and some of the most important people in my life through it and I really want to keep writing here, but if this is the last post I ever make then you can find me on instagram and twitter at hurryuppleaseitsfrankie - maybe once I stop blubbing about it ill make a new blog.

— (via nakedly)

— F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Sensible Thing  (via triplegem)

(Source: sarahs-delights)

starvingartstudent:

Any girls in London who bake and are looking for work, let me know. We are looking for someone to join us at the cafe, baking cakes and bread with me. The manager wants it to be a girl, and is employing a couple more female chefs in the restaurant too.

ALSO THIS POSITION IS VERY OPEN TO TRANSWOMEN!! I’m trans and have spoken with the manager about employing other trans people and he’s really up for it and actively wants to.

So get in touch?!

I think I feel the opposite of this, it’s kind of the starting point for the podcast, which is going to be called, “My Broken Heart is Extra Special”. Like this idea that I’m being kept in the same place by how important my relationship felt, and how that feeling gives me an infuriatingly misguided superiority complex over a break up, of all things.

This message was so well put and I would love to speak to you more about this, is there any way you can drop me a message off anon? x x x

Rereading Love in the Time of Cholera, which is obviously a terrible idea all things considered, but actually it’s research, for my podcast about heartbreak.

Which I would still love contributors for. Send me a message on here or on My Broken Heart is Extra Special (wip). Anyone with a story is welcome, but I especially want to hear from older people, people in the LGBTQIA community and people based in London. If you let me interview you in person I’ll buy you breakfast :)

bevsi:

don’t hurt yourself.

Let me tell you about yourself.

When we first met I lied for a living.

I sold, “exterior home improvements”
I sold plastic windows and I sold
conservatories and I sold
myself, to you, somehow.

When we first met I wasn’t sure.

I wasn’t sold on you. You liked me.
You liked me you liked me you were nothing like me.
I thought you were honest. I thought you were earnest
in earshot you whispered, “I like her. It’s like a fairytale,”
and it’s too soon to celebrate but you’d miss me
and I’m so glad you kissed me
and it pissed me off
You liked me too much.

I thought that made you a fucking fool
put you on par with a paying customer
for a UPVC lean-to.
Buying the bullshit, but the next day

I tell a small story of falling in love, across a crowded room.

I never set the scene.

Set the scene - your Mother is making a toast
Your friends are better dressed than me
are more graceful with their cutlery
I don’t know what I’m doing here.
We haven’t known each other very long.

Set the scene I see something
In that “honest” face
in those “earnest” eyes
Your smile like the sun coming up
Your laugh like an an avalanche
You are trying too hard.

I see something.
Let me tell you about yourself, you are not happy.
You are a liar, the best I’ve ever seen;
you roll your whole body into it
and we haven’t known each other very long
but I could love a liar
a girl who can light up her eyes like a disco ball
who laugh laugh laughs like there’s nothing in her throat
like everyone’s best friend.

Let me tell you about yourself

I didn’t want to love you but I thought, well, as we’re both liars.
I thought that made us special.
I thought you could
dig out the truth from inside my skull behind my eyes
that I would find an answer between your thighs
I thought that we were in this together.

I wasn’t expecting -
We neither of us expected it to be
warm, and weighted and won
I didn’t think I’d be undone by love,
that I would purge on truth each morning,
that I would smell your skin and say, “I smell your skin
I love you I love you I love you”
that I would bear my entrails for your inspection.
That I couldn’t help myself.
That I expected you to like what you saw.

You only want to fuck me when I lie
So here’s one:
I don’t care what you think of me
I don’t have a hole where my home should be
I have enough hate to be done with you; I am angry
There’s no need for you to want me.

I have taken my body
a block of gelatinous clay
and shaped it into something new.
I have starved it and beat it and painted it
I have shorn it’s mane and ripped tiny hairs from it’s skin
I have punished it for being a thing that you don’t want.
This is a crime of which it has been falsely accused.
Maybe.

Is my bleating brain my body?
Is the way I cry, and repeat myself
and repeat ourselves and lie
like a beached whale and let the limpets
and sea scum gather around me -
is that my body?
Is that why you don’t want me?

We both signed up for something else
constructed a misconstrued contract -
you, the undersigned, expecting, I, the plaintiff
to be an empty vessel.
An addition to the laundry list of women you never loved
only longed for. Lying, when I lay with you,
taking everything from you
far away when I fuck you
and when I’m done with you
leaving something slighter, smaller
a girl in pain crawling on the floor where she
belongs.

How dare I lift you to the light?
How dare I love you?

I, the witness, expected you
the liar
to make good on the way your voice shook when we first spoke.

That is all.

That’s not all -
I expected you to love me more than you hate yourself.

The women you want have one thing in common
they don’t need you
they could take or leave you.
Does waiting, weary,
on a wall for someone to care while you cry -
does it make you wet?

Let me tell you about yourself
Set the scene with an inconvenient truth:

We are in love
and you cannot lie your way out of that.

??? Good? Me too ???

Everyone be on my podcast and help me process.