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nick prideaux

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my dudeman comes home in a couple days and I’m so psyched

#I need to be KISSED

evergreene-images

I'm back on Tumblr because apparently my photography is now peak Tumblr vibes circa 2010

9puppiesdrowninginapool

Ken was created from Barbie’s rib

It’s been a little over a year since I left your apartment, bleeding, smelling like your sweat and beer. I went to therapy. You moved to Italy.

It’s things like this that make me sure karma is bullshit.

#I hope the women there are smarter than me #I hope they don’t go home with you #I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to look you up #I guess at least I don’t have to worry about running into you ever again

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souvenirs

aloneandforsakenbyfateandbyman

Michèle Mercier in Black Sabbath (1963)

8pxl

they're girlfriends,,,

8pxl

happy pride month i love you 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🌈🦋✨

You kiss me, you sigh my name, and I feel a lump in my throat. Some nameless feeling taking root in my chest. You kiss me me, and I am terrified. Like my lungs are on fire. And I have spent the last year with my heart locked away. But you kiss me. And I am alive. Vulnerable. And I want to belong to you.

#I am so afraid to want someone again #but you make me feel young and silly and light and safe #and maybe you are worth opening up to #so im writing tumblr poetry again #and this time it’s for you #for j #spilled ink

guess who locked that shit down

#I have a whole ass boyfriend #AND HE’S NICE TO ME

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to the pretty boy sleeping next to me,

I am so afraid to want you. After all, how many poems have I written for men who did not deserve them? But it’s been so long since I’ve felt something this easy. You feel like a spring thaw after a long winter. You lay in my arms, soft, warm, and you hold me like you mean it. I want to believe you.

#for j #spilled ink

He slept in my bed. All night. Didn’t go home until the sun came up. I’m so cooked.

#mfer has me kicking me feet

wishing a 4th degree tear on a special someone ❤️

clementinevonradicspoems

“I hated him most for not having the courage to ruin us grandly. To break all the dishes and burn down the house. Instead he sunk quiet into the arms of a beautiful, weak little bird. Denied me my spilled blood, my great war, everything except his confession.”

— Clementine von Radics, One Last Poem For The Man Who Cheated

And after I’ve coughed up all the teeth I’ve swallowed, I am still here. And I am singing in the car, windows down again. And I belong to no one. And I am not some broken thing. I am alive, I am alive, I am alive.

#spilled ink

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love taking care of everyone else only to rot in fucking bed in the middle of the night with no one to call, desperately wishing that I didn’t exist, knowing that i am forever doomed to be the Strong One until i finally just snap and flip the goddamn game board

When I was seventeen, the man I loved told me , “No one will ever love you. They will only ever love fucking you.”

And it haunts me. Like a fucking curse. Because it’s true. Because if there’s anything the past 10 years has taught me, it’s that men will only love you as long as you are a warm body to crash into.

Say their name. Better yet, call them daddy. Let them hit you. Fuffill their fucked up, rotting fantasies. Crawl on your hands and knees, palms scraped and bleeding, mouth full of dirt and mud, a silent plea for pity. Let them fuck you.

Tell yourself that at some point, they will care. Maybe if you’re pretty enough. Kinky enough. If you’re never too much. Never jealous. Never acknowledge the insects crawling up your throat, begging to be let out, begging you to scream. You want to be the Cool Girl, of course. Tell yourself that maybe, just maybe, they will care then. Maybe when your nails are broken, teeth chipped, voice hoarse from begging to be loved. Know you are lying to yourself. Because God knows men love broken women. But only if you’re fuckable when you cry.

#spilled ink

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