vaganja:

the-girl-who-dreams-big:

amuzed1:

drackiszunk:

apsies:

cosbyykidd:

imsoshive:

It’s not fair for him to even be on the show. Who’s gonna beat him? Seriously?

Yeah he’s gonna win.

I can’t get enough of this.

I’m sure he gets tired of it but I pray he does The Carlton at least once though. This shit was week one though? Everyone else needs to just quit haha.

This is the first week? I’d just quit if I were in this season. LOL

Everyone should just give up tbh

black excellence.

YASS CARLTON!!! YASSSSSSS

baby-wavy:

www.MILLESIMEny.bigcartel.com
I enjoy this picture way too much

" We love the things we love for what they are. "
by Robert Frost (via purplebuddhaproject)
" The real things haven’t changed. It is still best to be honest and truthful; to make the most of what we have; to be happy with simple pleasures; and have courage when things go wrong. "
by Laura Ingalls Wilder (via aestheticintrovert)

(Source: maryamrshad, via omgtiffanywtf)

3,986 notes • 5:09 PM

Dreams too… Definitely saw this for a reason

(Source: slightlypretentious, via omgtiffanywtf)

biscochozorro:

vuurvlieg:

split-the-coast:

When you discuss the wage gap, here are a few things to keep in mind:

  • Only white women make $0.77 to a man’s dollar.
  • Black women make about $0.68 to a man’s dollar.
  • Latina women make about $0.58 to a man’s dollar.

Intersectionality matters.

"to a man’s dollar"

You mean to a white man’s dollar.

image

(via baby-wavy)

"

Instead of Mom, she’s going to call me Point B.
Because that way she knows that no matter what happens,
at least she can always find her way to me.
And I’m going to paint the solar systems on the backs of her hands,

so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say,
Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.
And she’s going to learn that this life will hit you hard, in the face,
wait for you to get back up, just so it can kick you in the stomach,

but getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way
to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.
There is hurt here that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry.
So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn’t coming,

I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape
all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small
to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.

And Baby, I’ll tell her, don’t keep your nose up in the air like that.
I know that trick; I’ve done it a million times.
You’re just smelling for smoke
so you can follow the trail back to a burning house,

so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire
to see if you can save him. Or else-
find the boy who lit the fire in the first place,
to see if you can change him.

But I know she will anyways.
So instead, I”ll always keep
an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby,
because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix.

Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks that chocolate can’t fix.
But that’s what the rain boots are for.
Because rain will wash away everything,
if you let it.

I want her to look at the world through the underside
of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind,
because that’s the way my mom taught me-

That there’ll be days like this.
There’ll be days like this, my mama said.
When you open your hands to catch,
and wind up with only blisters and bruises;

when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly, and
the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape; when your boots will fill with rain,
and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment.

And those are the very days you have all the more reason
to say thank you. Because there’s nothing more beautiful
than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline,
no matter how many times it’s swept away.

You will put the wind in win(d)some, lose some.
You will put the star in starting over and over.
And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute,
be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.

And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty darn
naive. But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar
it can crumble so easily, but don’t be afraid
to stick your tongue out and taste it.

Baby, I’ll tell her, remember your mama is a worrier,
and your papa is a warrior, and you are the girl
with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.
Remember that good things come in three’s. And so do bad things.

And always apologize when you’ve done something wrong.
But don’t you ever apologize for the way
your eyes refuse to stop shining;
your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing.

And when they finally hand you heartbreak,
when they slip war and hatred under your door,
and offer you handouts on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

"
by Sarah Kay, B (via sarahkaypoems)

(via backshelfpoet)

"

Dear Linda,

I am in the middle of a flight to St. Louis to give a reading. I was reading a New Yorker story that made me think of my mother and all alone in the seat I whispered to her “I know, Mother, I know.” (Found a pen!) And I thought of you — someday flying somewhere all alone and me dead perhaps and you wishing to speak to me.

And I want to speak back. (Linda, maybe it won’t be flying, maybe it will be at your own kitchen table drinking tea some afternoon when you are 40. Anytime.) — I want to say back.

1st, I love you.

2. You never let me down.

3. I know. I was there once. I too, was 40 and with a dead mother who I needed still.

This is my message to the 40-year-old Linda. No matter what happens you were always my bobolink, my special Linda Gray. Life is not easy. It is awfully lonely. I know that. Now you too know it — wherever you are, Linda, talking to me. But I’ve had a good life — I wrote unhappy — but I lived to the hilt. You too, Linda — Live to the HILT! To the top. I love you, 40-year old Linda, and I love what you do, what you find, what you are! — Be your own woman. Belong to those you love. Talk to my poems, and talk to your heart — I’m in both: if you need me. I lied, Linda. I did love my mother and she loved me. She never held me but I miss her, so that I have to deny I ever loved her — or she me! Silly Anne! So there!

XOXOXO

Mom

"
by Anne Sexton, from a letter to her daughter, Linda Gray Sexton  (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via violentwavesofemotion)

114,898 notes • 9:41 PM

lemme-holla-at-you:

tourmaline2:

A dress designed to change color in the rain, thanks to dye sewn into 
the seams. Created by Sean Kelly, Modeled by Angelica Guillen-Jimenez

.

(via baby-wavy)

34,654 notes • 8:09 PM