If I’m gonna be anything the thing I’m gonna be is a bad ass.

I don’t understand why sex is more shocking than violence.



I know I’m not the only one who does this but you know when you have this like boundary around you when you’re sitting at a table or a desk that only you are allowed to be in 


And then someone or something that isn’t yours


gets in that space


and you just







Holy fuck finally someone who understands

(via guy)

Come lay with me. I wanna talk about nothing with someone that means something.


more benefits to being a cat

  • loved at any weight
  • its not weird if you’re awake in the middle of the night
  • people believe you when you say the gender of a cat no matter what it looks like
  • no one judges you for not showering or leaving the house
  • you can just leave in the middle of an interaction
  • no deadlines or bills
  • not expected to wear clothing
  • not cold if naked
  • if you do wear clothing you will be considered 500% cute no matter what
  • cute whiskers
  • tail
  • super flexible

(Source: actualanimevillain, via darrynmicheal)





makes me feel some type of way

I’d love nothing more than to be there with you

reminds me of 1984

I want to do this

I keep writing about you. They tell me my words are beautiful. I don’t know why. Maybe because they’re written for you. You’re beautiful but what they don’t know—what you don’t know—is I stare at this blank fucking paper and all I feel is rage anger and frustration because I write down these things and it never comes close to what I feel. If actions could be translated into words, I would write me shouting in my fucking car because your favorite song came up on my god damned pandora station again. I would write me standing in the shower while the scolding water burns my skin as I try to think of the exact moment I lost you. Then I would write me shutting off the water in total defeat because I realized I never even had you. I would write how a fire starts in my chest whenever I see a picture of you and her. I’ve never envied a stranger so much before. I would write how my eyes burn as I continue to stare at the god damned ceiling at 3am missing you. Being up that late was only fun when you were around.
I wish you were still around.
I don’t even know how to fucking end this. There’s no poetic way to say I feel like fucking shit.
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