Poems for $.50 in a small bookstore in San Francisco 

(Reblogged from fuckyeahbookarts)
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
D.H. Lawrence (via purplebuddhaproject)
(Reblogged from purplebuddhaproject)

Whenever Josh is like “I don’t think you should do it like that”. And then I’m like “Oh, really? Do you wanna tell that to my Oscar?”

(Source: fuckgron)

(Reblogged from fuckyeahthehungergames)
(Reblogged from fashiontribe)




The NYPD tried to start a hashtag outpouring of positive memories with their police force. 

If this were ever a bad idea, it was probably the worst idea for arguably the most corrupt police force in America. 

via Vice:

(Reblogged from navigatethestream)





I could have used this information over the last 29 years of my god damn life

My mom taught me to pack like this and she gets mad when I come to visit and sees that I don’t use it.

I need to remember this for uniforms.

Oh my god, I am learning this ASAP. HOW DID I NOT KNOW OF THIS BEFORE?!

(Source: neverforget14)

(Reblogged from sugahwaatah)
(Reblogged from eatcleanmakechanges)
(Reblogged from thefemaletyrant)



This is what couples do, right?

"Couples that read together, achieve together"

The Beautiful & The Androgynous 


(Reblogged from gaaaaaahgkjhgakjg)

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)
(Reblogged from raysymone)

(Source: c-mines)

(Reblogged from synchronizeddiscordance)
(Reblogged from pangeasgarden)

(Source: im1004)

(Reblogged from locxurious)





They are just everything


*fans self* If only…..

I would let them do very dirty things to me.

(Reblogged from manif3stlove)
(Reblogged from black--lamb)