NSFW. Gender-fluid, pansexual, 21 year old aspiring Conservator/Restorator, artist and female sk8boarder . Easily amazed by life. Im studying chemical engineering. I dont believe (more like abhor) in religions, but i find beauty in its phisicality and its history. I model for most of my photographer friends. I like to apply a unique style to my pictures. I draw and paint. Im a roller derby girl (PR West Side Rollers). I speak english-spanish-and learning french and Korean. Also sign language ^^ Life is art. Humanity is art. The human mind is art. Hence everything is beautiful. P.S. i periodically reblog what some may call porn. Ye be warned.
Mah birthday!!!! My friend Hazel and Will came to my house with my godson and a cake!! <3 we had a blast
Por los paseos con @catatonikemy bn feliz y @niiko_23 … #ponce #pr #puertorico #paseolineal #bike #biking #bicycle
Me in the middle of these wonderful men on a bike ride :)
Looking at pictures of blades unleashes the memory of that day I stood in front of the bathroom mirror staring at my moms razorblades. I remember the war in my head to not drag them against my skin….
But never again did i touch a razorblade. No, i was too unsteady to deal with those. I wanted pain, the kind of pain that vanishes other pains; I didnt want to bleed to death, though if it happened, In that moment i wouldnt have cared. Instead every other day meant a new adventure on finding whit what to cut my flesh next. One day sitting alone, crying my eyes out on the stairs of the second floor of my school I stared at my hands, a plastic notepad in one hand, a silky white, uncovered wrist screaming at my face “hurt me”. I felt the hard plastic on my other hand sink into me while i squeezed it out of anger. I broke it in three pieces. Broken hard plastic can be very sharp, and i knew this, i saw this. So i took the middle piece and scratched it against my white wrist. Its not as sharp as a blade so the pressure must be greater, so i put my anger into the plastic and as i dragged it, the pain showed on my skin. lines of blood cris-crossed on my wrists, they werent white anymore. I would lick the blood and cry until all i wanted was to sleep. I put away the plastic in my uniform pocket and hid my cuts under my plastic bracelets.
Somedays id use my shaving razor, but my favorite was sinking my nails into my legs while crying my heart out in my bedroom and scratching them all the way up leaving pieces of skin between my fingernails. The sting of the wound was sweeter than any other pain of loneliness.
I learned to not harm my body for I find it precious. Instead face my problems and cry myself to sleep