anchored-downnn:

bullshit394:

thernediocregatsby:

darkfather-ihavesinned:

stfunadeen:

hisan-na:


orientaltiger:
Fill your heart with secrets but the only way to read them is if you break your heart. 

i will forever reblog this

i need me one of these.

OMG I WANT ONE

i think every couple should get one and fill it with the little things they love about each other. and then if they’re fighting throw it at a wall and read all the little things that come out and hopefully that will remind them to love again. 

asdfghjkl reblogging for that ^

This is sick! Very creative
honeybeys:

Pumpkin carving game strong

kxsxy:

Pros of wearing all black: looks so badass

Cons: everyone knows I had powdered donut

thaunderground:

evoria-chill:

beautiful-ambition:

sophisticantsophia:

chiefsimba:

taint3ed:

validx2:

Even mom  turnt

YOOOOOO

So live!!!!!

I’ve never been so hype to have kids in my whole life

Me as a mom tbh

Mom killed it

damn! what is this shit called???

chaseitwithlime:

It does in my world…lmao

croutoncat:

horny and sad is the worst combination

hip-hop-lifestyle:

ganjam-lovu:

tiemydurag:

ya boi’s financial aid finally came thru ion know how to act in all honesty

HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA , gettttttttt there homie . Seeing ur genuine enthusiasm has brightened my night ! 

My favorite form of positive expression, dancing for the dash.

comickit:

I’m not badass I’m sadass I cry about everything

fuckyeahstvincent:

Austin City Limits 2014
231
"SKIRT STEAK GIRLS

The only girl in a handful of backseat boys, I sit
shotgun without calling it. The song pounding through
the radio says Bitch every Bitch other Bitch word.

One boy assures me I am not like other girls.
Out of habit, I thank him for the compliment.

I listen to them speak of women like menus;

medium-rare
lace skirt
trimmed steak.

I cross my legs and nearly fold my voice
into a teal blue Tiffany’s box.

This is the part where I prove that I am chill.
I can hang, guys. Who says feminists are a buzzkill?

As we turn the corner, there is a gaggle of young
women. The driver of the car I am in leans out the window and spits

How much?

Eyes wide as dinner plates, they scurry away like shot
pool balls, as I have done so many times.

The whole van hoots, fist-bumps, hollers. There are not enough seats
for both a woman and the joke to fit comfortably in the car.

I keep my rant about feminism and rape culture
as a ponytail holder around my wrist.

In a fish tank of predators, I wonder if I, too, am a predator
by association.

When I get the courage to say something,
I am two weeks late and encouraged by Bacardi.

I start by assuring him that he is a Good Person,
which is why I’m telling him this in the first place.

I have to make this matter to him. I have to bring up
his sister, his mother, his girlfriend-
I have to make this accessible to him.

It is the dilemma of the woman who wishes to inform
the sexist, politely.

It is the dilemma of the woman
who wishes to be heard-

Let us give you this reality check
with a spoonful of sugar.

Let us make this easier for you to hear
than it is for us to live."
SKIRT STEAK GIRLS by Blythe Baird (via blythebrooklyn)
"People always say that it hurts at night and apparently screaming into your pillow at 3am is the romantic equivalent of being heartbroken. But sometimes it’s 9am on a Tuesday morning and you’re standing at the kitchen bench waiting for the toast to pop up. And the smell of dusty sunlight and earl gray tea makes you miss him so much you don’t know what to do with your hands."
Rosie Scanlan, “On Missing Them” (via fxk-love)