install theme
systemofadowny:

spmib:

i refuse to let comments about how un-curvy my body is get to me anymore
its my body why do you care if it looks like a child, or a boys body
its my body and i like it
leave me be
i’ve worked really hard at putting my weight back on and unfortunately haven’t done very well
i still weigh 6stone 10
but that is all muscle now and i’m proud
if i keep on top of it in a few months my weight will be healthy.
and im fine with that.

:)
electro-slut-factory:

oh my GOD 

Howitzer Literary Society: If you as a poet, as a writer, as a musician, artist, or content...

howitzerliterarysociety:

If you as a poet, as a writer, as a musician, artist, or content curator can find the means to live a chill life then by all means do it. The delusions of Media make you think an artist has to burn baby burn, that an artist has to live in constant tension and tilt, that an artist has to be…

And yet i try so hard to explain and share myself with her yet its like talking to a brick fucking wall

im bored so i’ll take submissions from my followers

send me music pics poems jokes anything i really dont care im just fucking bored i’ll share if you like also just let me kno

STFU AND TAKE MY MONEY ALREADY

blankslate: don’t let the grip of a landmark shake your bonespretend the numbers...

blankslate:

don’t let the grip of a landmark shake your bones
pretend the numbers on clocks, calendars,
and photo IDs are gibberish
because they are
don’t write good things about people who make you
feel wrong in your skin
(or do, but don’t be surprised when
your handwriting comes out crooked)
feel free to…

Poetically Profound: Broken Metaphors

poeticallyprofound:

We’re all but broken metaphors
Just hoping to make sense of this world
One moment at a time
If I could place my hand in yours
And take away the hurt
I know that we would be just fine
Rooted in the beauty of it all
This love that shall set us free
Like the leaves of the fall
We’ll find…

An Englishman in Montreal: Ballistic palindromes

manfrommontreal:

Ballistic palindromes
move through the crevices of lapsed reason,
cutting windpipes in half
between the throes of my worry
and the absent minded blows
hitting my withering body as it cowers
on the corner of a vacant alley
and the last thought in my head.

In the brave light of false gods

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