Sunday, April 13, 2014
Thursday, April 10, 2014

(Source: choucribechir)

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

luaren:

"it’s so sexy when a woman speaks her mind" wOW being an autonomous living breathing person is sexy! that’s so out of the norm from being a fuckable object like women normally are to me!

Tuesday, April 8, 2014
I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life. F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (via bookmania)
Monday, March 31, 2014

Yesterday Vin heard me singing to myself and told me his two goals are to make me sing and play the piano more.

I laughed and told him that his goal should be to marry me but it really made me happy he said that because even though I’m not the best at those things, they cheer me up when I’m alone.

I stopped playing the piano in middle school after screwing up at a concert once. I play every few months when no ones home just to keep up the songs I know but I’m nowhere as good as I used to be.

As for singing I am NOT GOOD but he loves it and is sometimes able to convince me to sing in his ear. And if he secretly records me one more time I might kill him. But it really is so nice to have someone love the things about you no one else finds special.

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

i’m goin to have to dress like a mf princess in the summer to make up for looking’ like a hobo ALL WINTER.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014
How disappointing would it be get to heaven and find out God created life to be enjoyed while all we did was worry? Donald Miller (via kvtes)

(Source: nsana)

Thursday, February 13, 2014

newneattshirt:

~on holiday with a broken camera~

Let’s drive to the countryside, leave behind some green-eyed looka-likes

Saturday, February 1, 2014

Late June, grass lush like pretty brown girls,
like Vietnam. Tan hips on a beach, the sun
orange and pregnant.

No, that’s a different poem.
In this one, children sell citrus on the streets,
mouths sour and ripe. This is an exploration in grief.

Lake house sugar,

reading the same chapter of the same book
or two years in a overgrown tree house,

vines like barbed wire, climbing roses,
sticks of dynamite in the freezer like popsicles.

I learned to live in a place
that splintered itself. My father made rocking
chairs for a living. It was almost natural. You ripped
chunks out of the sofa, the sun melting butter on my legs.
Cracking me beneath your teeth like sunflower seeds.

You kept our kitchen knives beneath the mattress
like my mother and her gold. I bought lemons from

a pretty-eyed boy with bubblegum lips,
an apple pie and baseball heart, all that good American shit.
Winter is the season of burnt tongues.

Salt and ice on the back of your hand.
You peel the skin off and I count piano key bones.

You never said enough
& I never said no, to you.

The Things I Carry Still,” Yasmin Belkhyr  (via the59thstreetbridge)

I live where the wind hurts my face in the winter but I can’t imagine my life anywhere else.

Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Friday, November 29, 2013

I move slow and steady, but I feel like a waterfall.

Yeah I move slow and steady, past the ones I used to know.

Tuesday, November 26, 2013
my second baby

my second baby