The Latest

Apr 23, 2014 / 272 notes
Apr 22, 2014 / 931 notes
Apr 22, 2014 / 458,807 notes

purifyed:

TALL BOYS WITH PRETTY EYES AND DEEP VOICES AND MESSY HAIR WHO SMIRK A LOT ARE THE ABSOLUTE WORST AVOID THEM AT ALL COSTS 0/10 WOULD NOT RECOMMEND

(via pizza)

Apr 22, 2014 / 244,155 notes

islette:

if you can’t beat them, dress better than them

(via pizza)

We’re not friends, we’re not enemies. We’re strangers with some memories.
Frank Ocean  (via thatkindofwoman)

(via thatkindofwoman)

Apr 21, 2014 / 56,121 notes

I’ve loved my fans from the very first day, but they’ve said things and done things recently that make me feel like they’re my friends — more now than ever before. I’ll never go a day without thinking about our memories together.
Apr 21, 2014 / 304 notes

I’ve loved my fans from the very first day, but they’ve said things and done things recently that make me feel like they’re my friends — more now than ever before. I’ll never go a day without thinking about our memories together.

(via theangelscity)

My poor mother
begged for a sheep
but raised a wolf.
Michelle K., Four Rhythms. (via michellekpoems)
Apr 21, 2014 / 47,617 notes
He told me
he was afraid of
commitment
with thirteen
tattoos
on his body.
Michelle K., Commitment. (via michellekpoems)

(via michellekpoems)

Apr 21, 2014 / 238,033 notes
They were involved in that awkward procedure of getting to unknow each other.
Apr 21, 2014 / 3,928 notes

December 24th and we’re through again.
This time for good I know because I didn’t
throw you out — and anyway we waved.
No shoes. No angry doors.
We folded clothes and went
our separate ways.
You left behind that flannel shirt
of yours I liked but remembered to take
your toothbrush. Where are you tonight?

Richard, it’s Christmas Eve again
and old ghosts come back home.
I’m sitting by the Christmas tree
wondering where did we go wrong.

Okay, we didn’t work, and all
memories to tell you the truth aren’t good.
But sometimes there were good times.
Love was good. I loved your crooked sleep
beside me and never dreamed afraid.

There should be stars for great wars
like ours. There ought to be awards
and plenty of champagne for the survivors.

After all the years of degradations,
the several holidays of failure,
there should be something
to commemorate the pain.

Someday we’ll forget that great Brazil disaster.
Till then, Richard, I wish you well.
I wish you love affairs and plenty of hot water,
and women kinder than I treated you.
I forget the reason, but I loved you once,
remember?

Maybe in this season, drunk
and sentimental, I’m willing to admit
a part of me, crazed and kamikaze,
ripe for anarchy, loves still.

Sandra Cisneros, One Last Poem for Richard (via batifoler)

(via cottonwood-falling)

Apr 19, 2014 / 3,157 notes