your-flesh

people on this site love to trash their parents but imagine being a parent of a tumblr teenager. imagine one day going to your kid’s room to find your dear child, your flesh and blood, staring onto the screen with this blue hellsite open. they then turn their head to you without moving their body and call you an abuser for invading their privacy, and a “racist shitlord” because you own a souvenir sombrero

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“Call it total British Underground vibrancy. Call it whatever you want - just be sure to call it yours.”

BEVIS FROND review by DAVE SWANSON

YOUR FLESH #15 Winter/Spring1989 (page 49) PETER DAVIS, Editor

lathyrus

Originally posted by jiminiemini

Summary: Jimin is Y/N’s tattoo artist (tattoo!au)

collab with @eatjams, she’s doing a scenario with jungkook! check hers out, she’s amazing! hope you like this!

Words: 4.205

Warnings: none

Genre: fluff, angst(?)

Tapping your fingers on your steering wheel as you waited for the red light to turn to green, you chewed your bottom lip, jostling away the doubts that clouded your mind.  Thoughts that you might regret your decision had begun emerging that morning, the exact moment when your mobile screen flashed a reminder. Today was the day. The day you would get rid of your tattoo; the tattoo that have been a constant reminder of him, a memory inked to your flesh. A reminder of the warmth of his body, his hands around your waist and his lips on your skin. His lips that lingered longer on the sweet inked spot, just below your hairline, on the back of your neck.

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I miss the Mountains of my old home. The place that cultivated my craft. It held powerful spirits, sacred waters, old witch lore, and most importantly held the final resting place of my father.

I remember them, and I remember always feeling welcomed. The wind held my father’s voice, the grass and leaves his song, and the water falls held his loving heart. 

I dream of them and miss them. Those mountains held my father’s body, and he became them. Loving and embracing. 

It’s a decision you make,
one day,
when you’re tired of watching
everything that has ruined you,
walk about you
with its arrogant smugness.
One day,
when you decide to make a map of yourself and see the incredible way that trauma has made a home out of you.
One day,
when you step into a field of bitterness
that stretches all the way through your body,
over grown and unruly,
you remember
how those acres were once a single seed,
a little word,
a bee sting on your soft flesh.
It’s one day
after you’ve filed away
for the millionth time
a memory
that douses you in shame
and then gives you the gift of a match.
It’s one day while you sit at the kitchen table and watch your mother surviving off of loneliness , watching it pull at the edges of her eyes and the corners of her mouth
it’s that same day when you vow never to be that resourceful.
It just takes one day,
after a lifetime of winters
when you can finally stand inside yourself
and decide to become spring.
—  Key Ballah, on healing.