I’m not fascinated by people who smile all the time. What I find interesting is...– Unknown (via soaringaboveitall)
Anonymous asked: Amanda.
frombehindthesun asked: Sam
Anonymous asked: Emily.
deadmetaphor asked: Jamie (boy or girl)
Anonymous asked: David
To be a good human being is to have a kind of openness to the world, an ability...– Martha Nussbaum (via katelizabeth)
I actually felt really pretty today.
not just on the outside, but on the inside too.
the-ridges asked: I know by now you are probably tired of me. But, I wanted you to know this. While my step sister and I were sitting together on the computer, I pulled up your blog. I told her how much of an inspiration you are to me. We looked through every photograph on your DA albums. We talked about how stunningly gorgeous you are and how amazing your photography is. I told her you were everything I've...
Who I came from does not define who I am. Remember, remember.
There is a kind of crying I hope you have not experienced, and it is not just...– Lemony Snicket (via thechocolatebrigade)
"You're so.." finish it in my ask.
Sick Sad World: Rape Survivors Using Rape Jokes to... →
youarenotyou: cuntygrrl: superpussy: thechocolatebrigade: cuntygrrl: Ok so I’ve never experienced this IRL Or in tumblr. But, if I did I would call them out on it regardless because you are intruding on my experience as a rape survivor as well which means you are…
I close my eyes and I let my body shut itself down and I let my mind wander. It...– A Million Little Pieces - James Frey
Our life is made up of time; our days are measured in hours, our pay measured by...– Cecilia Ahern (via thechocolatebrigade)
When people don’t express themselves they die one piece at a time.– Speak - Laurie Halse Anderson
Reblog if you love to write.
scissorsafely: Whether it be fanfiction, original stories, drabbles, songs, poems, books, or anything that has to do with creative words, then reblog. Let’s gather all the writers of Tumblr together.
more of my weird writing
a box full of limbs, a jar full of souls. a gentle scientist whose heart is growing old. picking up each piece as if they’re made of gold. completeing each little person, loving them like his own. some with eyes that work, some that speak too slow. to him they all shine, not a single piece attached wrong. at last he adds the soul, the beauty that sets us apart, from the mother holding her...
i write weird poems at night
underneath the skin lives a crooked skeletal frame. each bone connecting to another, each one a special name. the ribs over the heart, the most important part. eyelashes long and strong, to keep away nightmares and visions gone wrong. lips parted and weak, inside they hold secrets they dare not speak. a spine long and far too overworked, from bending over backwards breaking to make a jagged puzzle...