in-exxhale:

icy-brunette:

lailuna:

I HAVE WAITED MY LIFE TO FIND THIS OMG I CAN’T I JUST CAN’T

so much swag in 3 people

your lying if you say you don’t need this on your blog 

I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION I LOVE ONE DIRECTION

baronessvondengler:

rosefire:

gaywitch-practisingabortion:

situationalstudent:

purplespacecats:

professorbutterscotch:

kiskolee:

THIS.

I have never thought about it in this context
that’s actually really, really creepy.

I… fuck.

Yeah, basically.

I once pointed this out to my mother and she just stared at me, in stunned silence for ages. 

There will always be a girl who is less sober, less secure, with less friends walking in a darker part of town. I want her safe just as much as I want me safe.

THE BOLDED

youssefineasswoman:

dope-is-my-hustle:

Orange in his Hand
I see two men sweatat the exitof the freeway.
One is brown and burntfrom the sun raysthe other is whitewith an American Flagstitched across his trucker hat.
They both wear dirty clothes.They both burn to holda little green.
One sells oranges, walking upand down the street. One holds a sign that reads,“I’m hungry, help me eat.”I feel for both of them,but I only admire one.
The one who handsoranges in bags to tired faces,who chases carsfor his change,who counts penniesas profitto keep his apartment.
The one whose wife wakesbefore sunrise to walkthrough Los Angeles streetsyelling “tamales, tamales”with a 4 year old daughter at her side.
The mother who crossed over4 years earlier so her daughterwouldn’t have to sell tamaleswith a baby at her side.
The father tells his sonnever to beg,but to work hard for the bread.So the son sells Cheetosat his high schooland gets called beanerfor not owning named brand clothes.A son who must bring dollarsbefore good gradesbecause rent is two weeks late.A son who will one day hold a gun to the headof a liquor store clerk,only to remember his father’s words.
Mijo, work hard for the bread.
Rent is two weeks late so the familybreaks tax laws to make jobsand they lifts roses to the skyhoping someone passing byis falling in love again,so the familytakes elotesto the neighborhood projectshoping the ninos are hungry.
The news says this family is hereto take my job, my seat in school, my country,but the only thing they’re taking is the riskof being handcuffed,broken and deportedin the name of familyin the name of lovein the name of trying everything to stay abovethe currentand that is whyI can’t help
But to admire the manwith an orange in his hand,a fireball of hunger in his palm.

This literally brought me to tears because the pain of their reality is so brutal. My mother and father are terribly smart people, who were raised in private french schools, with private cars and only the best in Egypt. But they came here and suffered. With their white skin, their many languages, their expensive education, they STILL had a hard time. Imagine everyone else. Imagine the hoods, the people of color, who have to break laws to make ends meet, laws that only work against them, systems made to cast them out and force them into poverty. My mother worked hard to feed us, but our pain is not their pain. This is something else entirely, a whole new level of hell we dismiss as their fault. It’s ours, for not doing shit to change it.



bookmad:

"fat girls shouldn’t—"

—have to deal with your narrow minded bullshit.



michaelsbutt:

im all about that bass (player)



voleux:

 


Story behind this? Her dad was leaving on a 2 year deployment. She was crying, and wouldn’t let go of her dad’s hand, even when he stood in line, saluting. No one had the heart to break them apart.
i’ve reblogged this like 470348 times, i can’t not reblog it everytime