sᴏʟᴅɪᴄᴏᴅᴇ

She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.

I want a trouble-maker for a lover, Blood spiller, blood drinker, a heart of flame, Who quarrels with the sky and fights with fate, Who burns like fire on the rushing sea.

Girls struggles with mixed messages: Be beautiful, but beauty is only skin deep. Be sexy, but not sexual. Be honest, but don’t hurt anyone’s feelings. Be independent, but be nice. Be smart, but not so smart you threaten boys.

she was little red riding hood and she was also the wolf; a fullmoon hunt, your heart eaten out of your chest; a mouth of sharp teeth but always smiling, smiling.