I reblogged this a week ago, my wish came true 2 days ago, hopefully my wish will come true this time
reblog and make a wish
this is my second time reblogging and my first wish came true so
i have to
i did this a few days ago and it also came true, i was freaked out like fuck
here goes nothing
fingers crossed this mother fucker works…
|—||Sylvia Plath (via moonbrains)|
|—||Ray Bradbury (via shotgun-shy)|
Sex is not a goddamn performance.
Sex should feel as natural as drinking water.
It should not require confidence.
Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe.
Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.
You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh.
It’s not about being “good in bed.”
It’s about being happy.
One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.
What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you.
Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.
Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be.
I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.
I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want.
Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.
I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.
“Good in bed,” what.
You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you.
Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel.
This isn’t a test.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
|—||Pablo Neruda (via lezziemcguire)|
Rain Journal: London: June 65
by Lee Harwoodsitting naked together
on the edge of the bed
this my first real love scene
your body so good
your eyes sad love stars
now when we’re miles apart
the come-down from mountain visions
That summer I did not go crazy
but I wore
to the bone.
|—||Dorothy Allison, “To the Bone“ (via vanswearingen)|
a series of
and large defeats
and I am as
as any other
I have gotten
from there to
|—||Charles Bukowski (via writingthatilike)|