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lora-mathis:

Meet Kasey.
I took some photos of her. Tumblr gurls rule da world. 

2327
"I was born into a line of women too afraid to leave.
My mother sleeps with her eyes open in his bed
and wills herself not to cry to strangers
when they offer her a glass of wine.
I have seen her pack her suitcase in her head
as she nervously wipes her stained red teeth,
always snapping out of it and straightening her skirt
before she makes it to the door.
Even in her dreams, she is terrified of him
not having a meal to come home to.

I did as I was taught and gave
“I love you”s like apologies,
staying even when I began mixing up
“growing up” and “giving up”
never even noticing my tongue had
slipped until I was corrected.
Five pages of my journal began with
“reasons to leave” and still,
I did not tell myself to run,
just continued to scribble things
I needed to change about myself,
saying that my shaking bones did not
excuse my shortcomings,
that I needed to be more for you.

I wish someone had told me:
in the struggle to love another better,
do not forget to love yourself.
You are more than your failed relationships.
Your lovers do not shiver when you touch them
because they can feel ghosts beneath your skin.
When he talks to you about “forever”,
do not be afraid to say “no.”

You come from a line of women who
forgot what “no” tasted like,
who kept their feet out the window
but felt too guilty that someone would have to
clean up their mess to ever jump.
But you are not your mother
and do not need to put makeup on
before he wakes up
out of fear that he will see desire to be more.
You do not have to open your legs to him in sleep
because your grandmother taught you to
never turn down somebody who says
“please.”

You were born on a battlefield
with white crosses in the spaces where
love took a bullet to the chest,
but you are more than a wounded soldier.
The moon is sleeping in your stomach,
waiting to remind you that
you can glow without
somebody’s hands inside of you.
I wonder if anyone ever told you:
just because he says he can “fix” you,
does not mean
you owe him yourself."
- I Wonder If Anyone Told You | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)
hhobbess:

chloe, los angeles
zine outtake
july 2014

i luv chloe i luv hobbes i luv sleeping on their couch(anastasia i luv you too) 

hhobbess:

chloe, los angeles

zine outtake

july 2014

i luv chloe i luv hobbes i luv sleeping on their couch
(anastasia i luv you too) 

(via hellolittledaisy)

356
"

I’ve been feeling tired lately.
Tired enough to look at alternatives to living.
I weigh the options in my head in-between yawns.
Work or a bottle of pain relievers?
Leaving my bed or jumping off a bridge?
The thing of rope in the garage or what,
an education? A landlord to pay rent to?
Another day to fill?

What’s the point?

I say the words aloud, hoping they’ll make more sense.
Three syllables. Three clicks of the tongue.
What’s. The. Point?

I sigh.
Pull my clothes on.
Twist my fingers tightly into a ball.
I don’t know.

Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe this question will continue to circle
over and over and over and over again in my head, acting as the only marker that I am the same person in the same body, housing the same thoughts.

Six years old, I stared tearfully,
with head pressed to window,
at the blur of dead hills.
What’s the point? I asked.
Eight, I ran with face down,
sweating through warm streams
in the California heat,
catching frogs in-between my fingers.
What’s the point? my feet splashed.
Thirteen, wiping away tears in a public bathroom stall,
trying to press myself deep into the bus seat
to keep from being seen.
What’s the point? I cursed.
Fifteen, thinking I understood love songs
as my lips learned about kissing
behind the community center.
What’s the point? I giggled.
Sixteen, scratching his name out of my desk
the rest of the semester.
What’s the point? I spat.
Eighteen, all moved in,
listening to my friends
sloppily clink their glasses together
as I lay in the dark,
feeling lonelier than ever before.
What’s the point? I shook.
Twenty-one, no longer amused,
feeling too old to not
have these things figured out
and too young to be gentle on myself.

What’s the point?
I don’t know.

But a part of me
(that has perhaps existed longer than my questioning)
says,

No one knows.
We are all here to find out.

"
- Making My Own Point | Lora Mathis
wildflower-collective:

"T(ex)ting" is now available as a zine on Etsy!
$3 + $1 U.S. shipping / $2 international shipping
Only 14 copies available at the moment, but we’ll be printing more soon!

Photo zines available now! Pictures by me. Graphics by Kasey. Snag a copy today

wildflower-collective:

"T(ex)ting" is now available as a zine on Etsy!

$3 + $1 U.S. shipping / $2 international shipping

Only 14 copies available at the moment, but we’ll be printing more soon!

Photo zines available now! Pictures by me. Graphics by Kasey. Snag a copy today

448
"

I am trying to find a way to
communicate my hardness
without cutting anybody on my sharp edges.
I am opening and closing my mouth;
I am practicing different shapes with my lips.

I am searching for a way
to tell the truth without feeling empty afterwards.

I am trying to make this easy.
But I open my chest to speak and what comes is not words,
it’s blood.

Listen to me and you’ll be scrubbing
the metallic,
acrid,
bloody
smell of me
out of you for weeks.

"
- What Good Am I? | Lora Mathis
3845
"I am so sick of
being told to be
all soft edges
and satin skin
stained lips
and porcelain
I don’t want to only feel
beautiful when I am
a raw, untouched blossom
that’s never been plucked
I want to be razorblades
and tongue rings
I want my scars to show
you where I’ve been
and my outsides
to match who I feel
like within"
-

Soft Edges and Satin Skin | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)

today is woman’s equality day 

2332
"

my mother told me that it’s time to stop
worrying about who i am
and time to start worrying about money

i wonder if all adults were sat down
and forced to give up their heart
if killing it was a thought-out, calculated decision

are some more wrinkled because they put up a bigger fight?
if so, my face will look like a
one-line painting by the end
with new lines popping up every minute
because i will never stop fighting
for the things that
matter

"
- your heart is the size of a fist because you need it to fight | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)

lifeofbrandi:

Personal Problems

a self study/project

(Inspired by poems and photography from Lora Mathis)

3

thoughtsfromelevenpm said: amazing amazing amazing writing, love it

Thank you!

/ backwards