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VAL . 17 . MALAYSIAN MORE
They call us killers, honey,
I say with teeth clenched around your jugular.
You’ve got them graveyard hands,
nails dredged up from diamond mines,
bones screaming bloody murder.
I wear combat boots and only smoke Camels,
like how you look with a noose around your neck.
Teach me to breathe poetry in the hollows
of your spine, bruise my name down your back.
With teeth made of cigarette smoke
and wrists of chewed leather,
I keep you perched on pretty legs
in the passenger seat of my father’s old car,
radio turned to love songs we never learned to sing.
We weren’t made for that marrying kind of tender;
we kiss like addicts hungry for a hit.
We are fighters, not lovers –
poets who plot murders and get drunk
to find God or our mothers’ ghosts,
spend all our time applying assonance to bar fights.
You’re good for alliterations and throwing punches,
you keep the boys hungry and on their knees.
I’m not good for much at all, baby,
A useless kid with knuckles bruised from living –
Killers, honey, killers.”
- This Is What They Call Us | d.a.s (via backshelfpoet)

forlupin:

the marauders visiting remus’ house and discovering some muggle appliances his mum likes to use even though its not necessary with her husband

remus showing them how they work and explaining how muggles have their own magic, and the boys so amazed and dazzled and proud of the muggles

sirius black accidentally shattering the lupin’s blender

unmarvel:

unmarvel:

when he leans close and whispers to your ear  (◡‿◡✿)

"hail hydra"  (ʘ‿ʘ✿)

HOW TO BE THE GIRL HE WANTS:

the first time someone tells you these words I hope you stick out your hand and catch the letters in the air I hope you crunch them in your fist I hope you shove them back into the mouth they flew out of I hope and pray you are not eight years old and hanging off of a shopping cart and groaning about how bored you are, I hope you were not young like I was the first time I read a magazine on a shelf underneath the candy I hope you weren’t young because I still thought everything I read had to be true - but better yet, I hope these words never find you.

They tell you to be strong but it’s the little things like this that sit on our hips and tangle in our hair and feel like bees when the night gets dark. It’s the little things we could never ever shake off because the minute we tried, we discovered there were more waiting for us.

HOW TO LOOK GOOD FOR SUMMER:

smile more often. I hope the first time someone calls you fat, you shimmy your shoulders and wink and feel like a goddess and take it as a compliment. I hope you are not the new kid in a fifth-grade class, glasses on your nose and your hair in tangles. I hope nobody ever touched your tummy and asked if you were embarrassed by the way it jiggles. I hope if you ever hear those words, you reach out your beautiful fingers and touch the temple of the person talking and ask, “Are you embarrassed your brain works like that?”

See, I have not gained weight since the eight grade and I’m twenty. I have had about four hundred people tell me I’m skinny but it’s only the two or three voices about the thickness of my thighs and the fat on my hips - these are the only voices that stick. Don’t give them that satisfaction. Take a bath. Stare at your reflection. Count the flecks beside your iris. Promise yourself you’re not going to ruin your life - you won’t let them win. Don’t let that moment cause ripples. Yank out the cruelty from your system.

HOW TO HAVE BETTER SEX:

stop faking it. Stop engineering your body to be a call-and-response of bruises and shots. I hope you are not fifteen the first time a boy kisses you hard. I hope you do not go home with a bloody mouth and spend the rest of your life thinking love is stained with iron. I hope you are not swallowing your sanity to be with somebody. I hope the first time you let someone touch you, they are someone worthy of your trust - I hope that nobody tries to force you into a label like “frigid” or “slut.”

In the animal world, most males have bright plumage so they can attract mates. In humans, we expect ladies to look a certain way. When you break out of the norm, suddenly you’re rattling chains. How dare you not want sex and still look this way. Maybe people are scared of admitting your body has power - it can turn heads in a baggy sweatshirt. Your body doesn’t need a magazine’s confirmation. Your body’s been through hell and still keeps on living. Put on your heels and stalk down the sidewalk. Take off your makeup. Do what you need to feel awesome.

HOW TO BE COMFORTABLE IN YOUR OWN SKIN:

ignore everything they tell you. Don’t let them in.

- Maybe one day I’ll make a list of every single terrible magazine I’ve read. I think I’m gonna start an advice column called “If it makes them money, it’s probably not good.” /// r.i.d (via rauchwolken)