One time I heard my boyfriend had sex with another girl. So I called and asked him about it and he denied it, so I called the girl and she denied it too, and then I called my boyfriend back and told him that the girl had told me everything and he replied with “it was just one time. It meant nothing.” And then I replied with “fuck you, she didn’t tell me anything.” And that’s still my favorite story to tell.
hey here’s a little text post about cops.
for those who don’t know me, my father is an ex cop, and he used to tell me stories about things that would happen.
With the recent Ferguson riots, I chose to be open minded about the situation. Are the cops handling the situation well? no. Does that mean that all cops are bad? no. What the cops are doing in ferguson IS wrong, and i’m not condoning their behavior.
my dad told me a story one time. He arrested a 19 year-old for drug use, and he had to go to court. This 19 year-old had a very wealthy dad who had great connections. Even though there were drugs in his system, and he was found with drugs on him, he was sentenced to probation. Three months later, the 19 year-old overdosed. My dad never forgets that story.
In every profession, there are good and bad workers. Some are slow, some are rude, some get fired and some get promoted.
Cops can be good, and cops can be bad, but they are putting themselves in situations where they can die, to protect us. Some do protect us, and some hurt us.
just like there are good and bad cops, there are also good and bad people. YES, we should be exposing what bad cops are doing, but think before you say something.
Here it is: You have been touched so many times that a hand on your back doesn’t make you flinch anymore. You know what’s coming. Your legs spread effortlessly, your lips bloom, your hands turn to waterfalls. You are able to let yourself go quickly, almost too quickly.
We were seated across from each other, having a conversation about the weather, when his hand slipped under the table. Your eyes widened for a second and then you went right back to spitting up thunderstorms and floods. When he pulled his hand back up to wipe your scent off with his cloth napkin, you didn’t so much as blink. You told me it was supposed to be cold next week, that an Arctic wind was coming in.
I wonder the last time you were touched and felt something; when you didn’t just close your eyes, lie back, and hope it’d be over soon. You’ve told me story after story about the bedrooms you’ve seen. Boys who lived with their mothers. Men with shiny, modern lofts overlooking screaming cities. Women who decorated with candles and stacks of books. I wonder when you last brought someone into your bedroom and let them see something besides the smooth insides of your thighs. When they saw your journals, your dog-eared books, your photographs, your thoughts.
You are better at the language of sex than love. I get it. Sometimes I think I am too. Sex is simple. The game of “grab your clothes and go” always plays out the same. There are rules and restrictions in it: don’t ask them to breakfast first, don’t leave anything behind, don’t text back, don’t get attached. Sex, when it’s just sex, is easy. It’s nothing. And that’s fine, that’s just fine. But I wonder if you have forgotten that being wanted is one thing and being loved is another, or if you now say “I love you” with a shut mouth, shut eyes, and open thighs.
— Being Wanted | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)
I learned this while watching Drunk History! I was shocked I had never hear of her before.
Not even on tumblr!
I’ve seen this on Drunk History too!! Drunk History on comedy central: a better source for American history than the education system.
I love Drunk History. I actually learned this from it tooI readWe Were There, Too!: Young People in U.S. Historyin the seventh grade and her story appeared. I highly recommend reading the entire book.
Duuude I have that book and it’s one of my favorites. You’re right. Everyone needs to read that.
My math teacher called me average.
hickeys are beautiful because they are the only time a bruise results from love and affection rather than harm