172 Hours on the Moon , The Seven Songs of Merlin, Black Rabbit Summer, Genesis
imagine if your fridge did what you do to it everyday, every half hour goes to your room opens the door and stares at you for 5 minutes then leaves
yeah mom im ok i just dont want to be alive haha
"If white people are so privileged why is there a Black Entertainment Network and no White Entertainment Network?"
"Men don’t have privilege, there are women’s only gyms!"
"Why isn’t there a campus centre for straight/cis people!?"
SAME REASONS WHY IN MARIO KART YOU DON’T GET BLUE SHELLS OR LIGHTNING BOLTS WHEN YOU’RE ALREADY IN FIRST PLACE, ASSBAG.
THAT’S THE BEST POSSIBLE METAPHOR I’VE EVER HEARD FOR THIS SHIT
Hw isn’t getting done
she still loves sleeping up here.
CORRECTION: Little typo—an iamb is actually unstressed-stressed—but the Hendrix song still works. Also, the name of the Hendrix song should be “Come On (Let the Good Times Roll)” There’s no “Baby.” The name of the Dylan song, contrary to popular belief, really is “Tangled up in Blue,” not “Blues.” Just…just one Blue. I realize the song title information is not super important.
But it’s super important.
A sonnet I wrote for my English class. My first ever sonnet actually, so sorry if it sucks or I did something wrong.
Dana Gabrielle Espinosa, Distance(via youcantbesure)
Haunting Video Shows What Syria’s Civil War Would Look Like in the West
what would it be like if the U.S. was war torn like Syria? A new video by international NGO Save the Children imagines just that, through the eyes of a young girlThe disturbing video features shots of the girl as she goes about her normal life over the course of a year. The video begins and ends with the child celebrating her birthday. Between shots, we see how her life changes dramatically as war ravages her country.
In the midst of winter, I found, in me, an invincible summer. My new tattoo.
This is for the dumped boys.
This is for the depressed.
This is for the adopted. For the insecure who live with rolls of fat when they sit down, for the girls with flat chests. For the bullied and for the washed-up popular chicks who got an abortion at sixteen.
Close your eyes and breathe.
This is for the nannies. The butlers, the housemaids, who clean up after my shit. This is for the hospital walls and the people that have lived in them.
This is for the taxi drivers driving at 2AM. For the coffee shop table with the loners sitting in it. For the single moms who have to work three shifts, for the janitor dads whose kids are ashamed of them. For the supposed-to-be retired elderly that still have to work retail, for the grandpas dying alone in a nursing home, and for the seventy-year-olds that have to beg on the streets.
This is for you. Breathe.
This is for the adults who struggle not to kill the voices in their head by slashing a razor through their skin. For the high school bullies wanting to say sorry. For the children who are not their parents’ favorites. For the black sheep. For the typhoon victims.
For the women who love sex and have been shamed for it. For the innocent black men sentenced to life without parole. For the struggling celibate pedophiles and reformed sex offenders. For the would-be serial killers who suppress their urges. For the homophobes, sexists, racists who bite their tongue and draw blood when they’re tempted to make an unkind remark. This is for the freaks. For the ones with unnatural kinks they have to ignore.
For the twelve-year olds whose childhood pet died today. For the five-year olds in Palestine and Israel who’ve been brought up to hate.
This is for those without a best friend. For the dogs who get hit by their owners’ hand. For the artists and dreamers in a society against dreams. For the poets and painters without the talent to create their masterpiece. For the travelers stuck with their laptops, for the athletes that get picked the least.
This for you.
This is for the days when your demons are snarling and grabbing and pulling at you from every direction. This is for the days when you find it hard to say no.
This was never meant for me.
So close your eyes. Close your eyes, fill your lungs with air and breathe. Feel the blood in your veins coursing through you, willing you to survive. Know that my words are with you, and take them like compassion coins inside your pocket you can jiggle during the seconds of silence it gets especially hard.
When you do, keep trying. For there is a world for you on the other side of the door, another one where you were meant to LIVE. To be alive without chains shackling you to the ground. Wait for it.
It’s okay. Thank you for trying.
Sade Andria Zabala | This Is Not For Me: Close Your Eyes and Breathe
My take on a beautiful poem by Anis Mojgani, Shake the Dust. A sort of thank you for those who are always secretly struggling and trying.(via surfandwrite)