just a sad babydoll x

Trigger Warning


Trigger Warning


"The thing is, I saw it coming, but I didn’t know that it would hurt this much"


"Rape culture is when you’re 13 years old and the guy across the street starts yelling sexual comments at you
Your mother rushing you on saying,”ignore him honey. This will happen your whole life.”
Rape culture is your only defense being your mother telling you “Ignore all the men who do that. Don’t instigate. They only want a reaction.”
As if my only meaning in this world was to allow disrespect freely, to not instigate.
Don’t give them a reason to retaliate
Women’s only role in this world is to keep themselves safe from the anger men can’t control
It starts when we’re young and it never stops
Rape culture is walking home late at night, keys clenched between your knuckles
Checking infront, behind, on both sides of you
Women being taught how to not be raped rather than men being taught that sex is not their right,
it is not something to be taken at their will
Rape culture is he must have been neglected as a child
Him already having an excuse
While you have the feeling of his hands on your skin for a lifetime
Rape culture is the victim always feeling that maybe it was their fault
Maybe they could have done something to stop it from happening
If they weren’t drunk, if they hadnt worn that, if they had screamed louder
Rape culture is my father telling my 14 year old brother to use protection and ‘go get it’
Like it’s in their nature to ‘get it’ whenever they please
My mother telling me not to wear things too provocative
Not to show too much skin, as to not give guys the wrong idea
What I’m wearing does not mean I want it
Rape culture is everyone believing it all happens the same way, but one story is not all stories
They don’t teach you about how when it’s happening, you swallow your voice, you forget how to speak
They don’t teach you how you’ll freeze as you feel your body being taken away from you, like it isn’t yours
It hardly ever happens how you see it in the movies
Sometimes you aren’t in an alley way
Sometimes they don’t physically hurt you to take what they want
Rape culture is ‘this is what happens when you’re hot’ ‘this is what you get for wearing that dress’
Him whispering in your ear how you had been asking for it
You believing him
Rape culture is you rather let your parents find you dead than tell them,”it wasn’t my fault, I wasn’t asking for it”
Afraid they won’t believe you, they’ll tell you all the reasons why he did it
You had provoked him, you gave him the wrong idea, you led him on in some minimal way
They think by blaming you as well it’ll make it better; make you better
It won’t make what happened real
But, mom. Dad. It is real and I wasn’t asking for it.
Rape culture is feeling like I should be thanking god that I was one of the lucky ones
He hadn’t beat you
Hadnt choked you to quiet your screams
It hadnt happened in an alley way
I should thank god that I wasn’t left beaten and bruised
I was only penetrated for hours, a methodical thrusting; in and out
Too drunk to move
Rape culture is taking 10 showers when you get home, but never feeling clean
Jumping at the touch of any man
Feeling like your body is burning on fire even when your own father pulls you in for a hug
Knowing it will take you years to forget the feeling of his hands, and maybe not even then
Rape culture is being 17 years old and raped by someone I knew
Waking up in the middle of the night afraid that I’m back in his bed
Forever changed
Rape culture is never thinking it could happen to you
Thinking that you would fight back
You would make a scene, you would yell for help
Never thinking you would allow yourself to be hurt, backed up against a wall
Rape culture is being told that we are the prey, the only thing that quenches their hunger
That we are the weaker ones because we were born never learning how to fight
We’re taught since we’re young not to speak up, that we are not strong enough to stop them
Hide in your fear ladies
Rape culture is being told that I taste delicious as he kisses down my neck
Being told that he can’t stop, as if he has no willpower
I no longer want to hear what you think of me, I do not live for you
Rape culture is feeling like you can run to no one because what if they blame you?
What if they take his side?
You’ll believe them. ‘You were drunk’ they’ll say. Right?
Rape culture is always being the victim
Predispositioned by the cells that made you
Designed to fail, every time
Rape culture is taking off your clothes and smelling him all over them
Throwing away the skirt that he ruined with a huge rip down the center
Forcing yourself to rewear that sweater
It is just an article of clothing
You refuse not to be ok
But it is like a flashback in your mind
You slip into it and it is like you’re back there again
That sweater is your pride, your fight, your dignity
But it is also the pain, the disgust, the hurt
You will wear it until a sweater, becomes just a sweater again
Rape culture is your ‘best friend’ not believing you
Belittling the situation
‘She could have said no’, but I had..
‘Just move on’
‘You can’t let it ruin your life’
You expect them to take your side, to understand, to care
And if they can’t save you, at least make you feel better
But if you speak up, don’t ever expect everyone to understand
Not even people you love
Rape culture is being left with scars that will never disappear
You can feel them underneath your skin
Shadows of the past
My body stained, dirtied by his touch
A touch I never asked for
Remembering him every time I cringe, flinch, back away from a mans caress
Unable to permanently scrub him off of me
The memories are haunting
Finding bits of him inside me, feeling like i earned it in someway
You call me beautiful, pretty, stunning
But I am none of those things for you
That is not my only purpose
My mother taught me to love myself,
Never let anyone change your mind about who you are
You are unfinished, a mystery waiting to be solved
You are so much more than just skin and bone
You are your thoughts and your love and your soul
You are a woman, but you will never be an insult
My father taught me that sometimes you have to save yourself
Pick yourself up, wipe yourself off
His lack of impact in my life made me realize you can only rely on yourself, because in the end there is only you
They tell you not to fight because they’re afraid
Afraid of your strength, your power
They say ‘do not fight fire with fire’
But they are just afraid of your flame
Rape culture is understanding that ‘no’ means ‘no’ not ‘convince me’
‘Stop’ means ‘no’
‘Don’t’ means ‘no’
Putting my hands on your chest and shoving you away.. means no
Drunk or drugged means no
Whimpering, begging, ‘please’…means no
Rape culture is understanding that just because she moans doesn’t mean she wants it
Just because they don’t fight back doesn’t mean they’re consenting
And just because they do not break down when they tell you their story, it doesn’t make it any less real
It is losing your voice and forgetting you have the right to speak when he is ripping your thong off
Shoving himself inside you
It is realizing that you have to stay strong if you don’t want the weight of it all to crush you
Rape culture is me, you, us
Living in a world of silence
But I have found my voice."
Elisabeth Fuentes (via kingjizzy)

"There is not one person in this world that is not cripplingly sad about something. You remember that before you open your mouth."
Unknown (via perfect)

(Source: e-cstasiy)


1. I am watching you get sick. The whites of your eyes are becoming yellow yolks; cheeks hang like grocery bags. You make diets of day planners. No time to eat with a stuffed calendar. Live off scheduled glamour. Meals are powdered hot chocolate packets. No marshmallows; just water. Breakfast is plain oatmeal. No milk; flavored with tap water. It is always raining. You swallow the storm.

2. To invite happiness inside him, Vincent Van Gogh drank paint of yellow hues. You did mad things for happiness, too. Vomit like an after school sport; casually, to pass time. Stomach acid erodes enamel. Your teeth blister. Bathe in sea salt to eliminate water weight.

3. Eating disorders are very in. Like kale, like skinny jeans, like old Hollywood glamour- and don’t you dare bring up Marilyn Monroe. Recent studies show her frame was only one third of what you think.

4. Shrivel your stomach until it takes a single granola bar to feel full. Have NyQuil for a midnight snack. With pale pupils and unplugged irises, the only language you are fluent in is numbers. You are a human recycling bin. Quit blaming your hometown and biological skin. If you’re not recovering, you are dying. There is no halfway when you’re overflowing from the inside. Drown your organs- they are already shipwrecked.

5. There was another girl in our grade who got sick about the same time you did, but she went to the hospital real quick because she was already thin to begin with. You see, when you’re thin, then get rapidly thinner, you have a problem. You need help.

6. You were not thin to begin with. You were fat, and now you’re evaporating, so everybody is congratulating you on getting “healthy.” You are not an illness, but an inspiration. Your father still carries your before-and-after photo in his wallet. Your disease is a smashing sensation.

7. Friend, I am so sorry. You too, are sick. Your messiah Kate Moss insists her physique is an achievable ambition, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.”… Girl, she’s never had Nutella. Do not trust her, her two-faced dental care, or her fur pelt. Anorexics develop a hair all over to thaw their glacial bodies, called lanugo. The cold won’t let you go.

8. Veins bulging like a pop up book, I am watching you get sick. Mistake tracing paper for your skin. I am watching you get sick. When the blackouts start and your pulse gets slippery, wallpaper your interior with laxatives. I am watching you get sick. Read so much, your body trusts it is full on authors, not high on hunger. I am watching you get sick.

9. One day, you will learn. The natural pigments will return- no more yellow skin, no blue fingernails, no scarlet scratch in your throat matching the raw nick on your middle finger. Make amends with cuisine and the kitchen. Your face will glow like a television. You will get full again. Be able to finish a meal. You will become a writer. One day, I hope I’ll be able to finish this poem and say-

10. I am watching you heal. I am watching you get better.”

SHE DOESN’T NEED TO SEE THE MENU, by Blythe Baird (via the-healing-nest)

(Source: blythebrooklyn)


[TW: rape]

This is the rape joke:
My best friend was four years old the first time his father came into his room at midnight and tore out his throat. He still has days when I cannot hold him because the memory of a bleeding trachea haunts his doorway. He has not been home for the holidays in many years, but – even now – hands are seen as weapons.

This is the rape joke:
I have been told by more than twenty people that they have been raped. To all of them, I asked where the rapist was. From none of them, I heard ‘jail.’

This is the rape joke:
Once my brother told me that I was so ugly, I would be a virgin forever. Unless someone raped me. But even they wouldn’t come back for seconds.

This is the rape joke:
I believed him.

This is the rape joke:
I now look at every woman on the street and wonder if the space between her legs is a crime scene, surrounded by ripped caution tape. The statistics tell me that this is so common that I will never be in a room that does not contain a survivor. Not even if I am in that room alone.

This is the rape joke:
I was thirteen years old, and he was supposed to be just a friend.

This is the rape joke:
When his older brother came home, the boy pulled away. He wiped the tears from my face and said ‘we should do this again some time.’

This is the rape joke:
When I finally told my parents, they asked what I had been wearing.

This is the rape joke:
I had been wearing my innocence. My trust. I had worn the love I held for humanity and expected to be treated well. I had never been taught that I would be that girl, the one who keeps a mine of secrets between her legs – that girl was the slut. I wasn’t supposed to be breakable.
What had I been wearing? I wore the rape joke, then I became it.


This is the Rape Joke | d.a.s

After Lora Mathis’s poem “the Rape Joke

(via backshelfpoet)

legs on my blog..

"I want you everywhere, by my side and between my thighs.
I want your flowers in my hair and your name under my nails.
I want you with me, your sugar in my tea, my eyelashes on your sheets.
Write your name on me, when my heart breaks, I want it to be blinding."
Du, J.M. (via oofpoetry)