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Being born a woman is an awful tragedy. Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, bar room regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording—all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yet, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.
Sylvia Plath (via avvfvl)

(Source: raccoonwounds)

I think about dying but I don’t want to die, not even close. In fact my problem is the complete opposite. I want to live, I want to escape. I feel trapped and bored and claustrophobic, theres so much to see and so much to do but I somehow still find myself doing nothing at all. I’m wasting every second, even now i’m writing this when I should be out there, I should be living. I’m still here in this metaphorical bubble of existence and I can’t quite figure out what the hell i’m doing or how to get out.
(via acrylic)

(Source: floweringo)

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