Morbid Wave

Tattooed woman who keeps her nose in a jar – before and after Tattoos serve as a form of self-expression that sometimes have certain cultural or religious significance. For some people, tattoos are simply a pure form of art or a way to commemorate an event or a loved one. Regardless of the reasons for getting a tattoo, it remains a personal decision, and in some cultures, it is still viewed as taboo. Toxii Daniëlle is among the most tattooed women. However, her looks is not just changed by the ink on her body but through other forms of body modification, such as cutting her nose which she now keeps in a jar. Toxii Daniëlle has tattoos covering her from head to toe, with the upper part of her body almost entirely black.  Xem bài viết này trên Instagram  Bài viết do Villain Arts Tattoo Festivals (@villainarts) chia sẻ This tattooed woman’s appearance has attracted the attention of many, and she now has over 155,000 subscribers on her Instagram where she posts photos...

 At 16, Cyntoia Brown was sentenced to life in prison for killing a man. She had survived many rapes and assaults and was often sold for drug money by her boyfriend at the time. Her boyfriend used to say things like, “People are born to be whores. The best thing you can do is be a good one.” This stuck with her. In 2004, Cyntoia met a man who showed her his gun collection. She ended up shooting him, then took his truck, wallet, and gun. Cyntoia insisted that she didn’t kill him to rob him. She was tried as an adult and spent 15 years in prison. Her case was unique and controversial. Guilty or not, the court referred to her as a “teen prostitute.” While studying for a degree in prison, Cyntoia learned about the term sex trafficking. She wondered, “Why am I only now learning that there’s no such thing as a teen prostitute? Why are teenagers who are trafficked treated like they’re bad or promiscuous?” I...

A HOMELESS BOY, A MCDONALD’S LIGHT, AND A DREAM Every night, once my mom and little sister drifted off to sleep in our car, I’d quietly slip out with my backpack slung over one shoulder. I didn’t go far—just to the McDonald’s at the end of the block. Not for food. We couldn’t afford that. I went for the light. I’d settle on the curb under the warm glow of the restaurant’s sign, spreading out my notebooks and finishing my homework on the pavement. Some nights were brutal—cold winds, an empty stomach—but I was determined not to fall behind in school. Because I had dreams. Big ones. One evening, I noticed a man sitting in a nearby car, watching me. I tried to ignore him; people stared all the time. But then he stepped out and approached. “Hey, kid,” he said gently, crouching beside me. “Why are you out here?” I clutched my pencil tighter. “I’m just doing my homework,” I answered quietly. He glanced at my open books, studied my half-solved math problems, then looked towa...