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Stand and Burn by Claudia Boleyn.   (via collectivecadaver)

(via all--0ur--bruised--b0dies)

I once told a joke about a straight person.

They came after me in droves.

Each one singing the same:

Don’t fight fire with fire.

*

What they mean is: Don’t fight fire with anything.

Do not fight fire with water.

Do not fight fire with foam.

Do not evacuate the people.

Do not sound the alarms.

Do not crawl coughing and choking and spluttering to safety.

Do not barricade the door with damp towels.

Do not wave a white flag out of the window.

Do not take the plunge from several storeys up.

Do not shed a tear for your lover trapped behind a wall of flame.

Do not curse the combination of fuel, heat, and oxygen.

Do not ask why the fire fighters are not coming.

*

When they say: Don’t fight fire with fire.

What they mean is: Stand and burn.

frickyeah-attractivepeople:

i remember even just a year ago, i’d see pictures all the time of people with captions saying “i’m ugly” and stuff like that

but now, just about every day on my dash, it’s gotten to be like a thing where people will say “my hair looked super cute today” or “i’ve been feeling so body positive lately”

how awesome is that

(via it--doesnt--get--better)

a girl thats about to blow up on your ass if you say bye back. or a girl that’s done with your shit. but 9/10 its the first one (via sleezed)

(via youareaflower-andiamthedirt)

whatever bye

farandolae:

On a serious note though people who idolize serial killers honestly disgust me. Especially when white men who are convicted rapists and murderers are celebrated by wannabe edgy fucks for their “beautifully twisted minds” who wax philosophically about how they shouldn’t be in jail because they’re just poor sensitive lambs lost in society’s evil machine… while black men on minor drug charges rot in jail and no one blinks an eye……

(via the-fittest-bitch)

GIRLS by K.P.K

(via towritepoems)

(via imperfections-dont-define-you)

When I was about nine years old,
I wanted to be a boy.

In my mind, boys had everything.
Boys had it easy. Boys had it made.

I didn’t get along very well with
other girls because I would
rather be covered in mud than
in makeup. I would rather
skin knees than stab backs.
Boys ran their mouths and
ran the school while my
patience ran a little bit thin.
But that’s not what girls did.
Girls kept pretty and girls
kept quiet and girls kept
themselves together.

When I was about nine years old,
I realized the biggest difference
between boys and girls to me
was that boys never seemed
to think before they spoke
and I would watch girls
swallow their words like
they were pills made
for horses.

But to boys, there was more
than just that. There was
something in them that
told them girls were weak,
when all I could see was the
strength seeping out of their
pores as they bit the strongest
muscle in their body until it bled.
There was something in
them that told them
girls were worse, when
all I could see was every girl
in a race to better themselves
before the ideal image
of a perfect girl changed
once again.

Even at nine years old,
there was nothing better to me,
than girls.

But I wanted to be a boy, I think,
only because I wanted, just once,
to be picked first to play ball,
to show them I could run just as fast,
kick just as hard,
win just as fiercely.

I wanted to prove myself,
as a girl, that I could be everything
a boy was,
and then some.

When I was about nine years old,
as I hurriedly tried to tie up
my shoes to race others
to the field,
I heard the phrase:
“You can’t play for our team,
you’re a girl.”

I remember thinking,
“But why does that make a difference?”
Until I turned fifteen years old.

When I was about fifteen years old,
I realized that I did not want to
be a boy any more.
I wanted the freedom and
the power and the worth
every boy I grew up with
felt he had.

I wanted to be an equal.

When I was about fifteen years old,
and heard,
“You can’t play for our team”
as I laced up my heartstrings
like a pair of battered cleats,

I learned to say, with a huge smile,
and a nod, remembering
girls and their strength
and their beauty and their poise
and their ability to keep everything
in and everybody out and
hold together a family or bring
down an army,
“It’s okay. I play for the other team
anyway”.

Five things I am trying very hard to accept  (via groudon)

(Source: aumoe, via the-monsters-are-inside-of-you)

1. Your skin may never be perfect, and that’s okay.

2. Life is too short not to have the underwear, the coffee, and the haircut you want.

3. Everyone (including your family, your coworkers, and your best friend) will talk about you behind your back, and you’ll talk about them too. It doesn’t mean you don’t love each other.

4. It’s okay to spend money on things that make you happy.

5. Sometimes without fault or reason, relationships deteriorate. It will happen when you’re six, it will happen when you’re sixty. That’s life.

This is a concept most of tumblr can’t wrap their head around.

(Source: , via youngbloods-young-hearts-alike)

omgitsnils:

goddamnitobama:

So last night my mum wouldn’t let me have any sweets because she said they were all for the trick or treaters so i put this mask on and went out the back door and went around to the front and said trick or treat and she didn’t recognize me and she said “since i don’t think we’ll be getting any more tonight you can the rest of this bag my daughter will have them otherwise” and then i went back in

image
i love myself

(via it--doesnt--get--better)

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