ah yes i have finally found it


the g spot

(Source: poopflow, via gurl)

"stanza: The natural unit of the lyric: a group or sequence of lines arranged in a pattern…The word stanza means ‘room’ in Italian— ’a station,’ ‘a stopping place’—and each stanza in a poem is like a room in a house, a lyric dwelling place."

Edward Hirsch on this week’s poetic term: Stanza. (via poetsorg)

(via poetsorg)



holy shit so accurate

America is a bad influence



holy shit so accurate

America is a bad influence

(Source: smellyfatty, via erwinfsex)

(Source: deathshred, via erwinfsex)


I have always wondered if this was a reference to James Joyce’s Ulysses, in which Bloom carries around a potato for much of the novel.

(Source: fyspringfield.com)



Wolverine fisting you when suddenly


(Source: scottsmmers, via artcicmokneys)


I find a lot of people physically attractive, but finding people mentally and spiritually attractive is different and much harder for me

(via ireblogstuffsometimes)

(via wbru)


He says ‘I don’t get it, why are you still a virgin at 24?’

He says ‘I don’t believe you, I’ve seen you walk, virgins don’t walk like that’

He says, ‘That ain’t natural, people are supposed to fuck.’

He asks ‘Why though? No offence though.’

I ask ‘When was your first time?’

He says ‘I was 12’

He says ‘I know what you’re thinking, that’s too young.’

I look at his knuckles, he has two good hands.

He says ‘She was older than me.’

I ask ‘How old?’

And he says ‘It’s better that the girl is older, that’s how I learnt all things I know’

He licks his lips.

I ask again ‘How old?’

He says ‘I could use one finger to make you sob’

I think of my brother in prison and I can’t remember his face.

I ask again ‘How old?’

He says ‘Boys become men in the laps of women, you know?’

I think of my mothers faced lined with her bad choices in men.

He says ‘If you were mine you wouldn’t get away with this shit, I’d eat you for hours, I’d gut you like fruit.’

I think of my cousins circumcision, how she feels like a mermaid, not human from the waist down.

He says ‘I’d look after you, you know?’

I laugh, I ask for the last time ‘How old?’

He says ‘34.’

He says ‘She was beautiful though and I know what you’re thinking but it’s not like that, I’m a man, I’m a man, I’m a man. No one could ever hurt me’.


Warsan Shire, Crude Conversations With Boys Who Fake Laughter Often (via ethiopienne)

It’s not like that.

We’re supposed to like it.

(via screwyoursunshine)

(Source: cactuslungs, via ughhdone)



(Source: i3troyler, via just-one-wallflower)