lonely, tired, and fucked up.

i'm just really sad and really obsessed with bands

\m/


fulmadz:

I have like 277262 kisses saved up for you


radioirwin:

radioirwin:

i was in the car with my mum today and she stopped reversing and looks at me and was like “is that a hickey ??? On ur neck ?????? did a boy do that to u ????????? i thought u’d be alone forever on ur laptop.” the hickey was a bruise from where i accidentally shot myself in the neck with a nerf dart while trying 2 recreate a scene in star trek. my life is so pathetic even mum wants me 2 get some

stop reblogging this


queencosima:

things i was supposed to do this weekend:

  • so many

things i did this weekend:

  • none of that

tallulahblues:

I literally crave affection. It’s not about sex. I crave somebody to cuddle with me, and to lay their head on my lap. I crave kisses, holding hands and running my thumb across theirs. Just looking at someone and thinking “how did I get this lucky”.


d0it4theratchetz:

If you grab my face right before you kiss me, I’ll definitely fall in love with you.


consultingsonic:

madblackgirl:

team 5’5 and under where ya at

they didn’t let us in they thought we were 12

(Source: blackfemalepresident)

I laugh at your randomness because I find you ridiculously attractive.Michael Daaboul (via michaeldaaboul)

When we are girls,
they hand us dolls and say
“Be like this.”
Pretty.
Pliable.
Silent.
We grow up holding glassy eyed fantasies
Taught early on that we will never be as perfect as what we are asked to be.

When we are no longer girls,
but not yet women,
they hand us razors and say
“Run these across your skin.”
We learn that our bodies are intrinsically wrong
And when we tear ourselves open trying to scrape away the inadequacy they’ve forced on us
They act shocked.

When we are women,
they hand us shame and say
“Here. This is yours to carry.”
So we drape it around our necks
like a scarf
And the furious proclamations that rise in our throats
stay trapped just below our tongues.

But I am not made of porcelain.
Take your dolls back.
I am not yours to shatter.
I will take the razors that they handed me and use them
to tear the shame from my neck
because I’ll be damned if
“woman”
and “shame”
are synonyms.

I will be part of the generation that hands my girls
steel.
And says,
“Be like this.”
Strong.
Immovable.
Shining.
They will grow up seeing that they do not have to bend,
that if someone tries to break them they will not do so silently.
The generation that teaches our girls
that they were made to withstand storms,
and that they are no one’s to hold.

not of porcelain, but of steel - A.S (via narcol-ptic)