orgaein:

I feel like my friendly facade is slowly fading and its not a smile its a scream and its directed at all the people I’ve put up with who are gradually eroding the nice thing inside me away and all this sediment is being transported into something new something they won’t like

(via artemonstre)


You always feel like you are the only one in the world, like everyone else is crazy for each other, but it’s not true. Generally, people don’t like each other very much. And that goes for friends, too.

-Miranda July (via allmymetaphors)

“Please don’t tell dad.”
you are six and I am eight,
keeping the bugs at bay and leaning forward
over the murky pond in our forest in Virginia.
Today we are hunting for frogs -
racing to find the fattest to bring home
hidden in our sweaty chubby palms,
to hide in the pillowcase of our least favorite cousin
who is visiting from the country, and is in the first grade, and has not yet learned
how to pray
before eating, or how to say
our last name without an accent.

When you slip and fall, I do not catch you
and I am so scared watching you sink
that for twenty seconds after I do not think
to call for help. When our mother runs
and jumps
into the murky pond she is sobbing.
While she pumps black water from your blue body
I rub a frogs stomach with my little finger.
He is hypnotized, and you are alive
but barely. That night I promise I will never let you die again.

“Please don’t tell dad.”
You are fourteen,
sneaking out with friends for the first time
and I find a stolen bottle of wine
in your backpack. You say dad would have
a heart attack, and I believe you. You say you need this.
You say that you will do
anything that I ask. But I don’t ask.
Instead, I watch you pile into the back of an older friend’s Jeep,
and I am careful not to let the window creek
when I close it behind you.

In the morning I find vomit on your shoes.
I wash them in the sink. I bring you something to drink
and two aspirin. The next month your older friend
hits a cyclist in his jeep,
and kills him. The police find drugs in his system.
They send him to prison.

“Please don’t tell dad”
you are sixteen, and I catch you smoking weed,
catching you needing something
that you do not have. You are sixteen, bleeding and softening,
and when you tell me you want to die sometimes
all I can say is “so do I.” You are sixteen,
so I don’t tell dad that I think you need help
because you tell me you can help yourself.

“Please don’t tell dad”
you say on the phone, and I am nineteen now,
living on my own
eight hours from either place I call home
and I feel guilty for leaving you alone
with him.
But this time it is not about drugs or dead friends.
“I wrote a poem,” you say,
“and I think I might be good at this.
Please don’t tell dad, but I want to be a poet.”

When you hear me crying on the end of the line,
you tell me that it’s fine. That you love me. That you are thankful
for everything I’ve done, for the water in your lungs
and for the drugs and for all the times you’ve needed me
and I have not come.

“Please don’t tell dad,”
you say,
and then thank me.


-Poem For My Little Brother on His 17th Birthday; Hannah Beth Ragland (via allmymetaphors)

thejamesboyle:

I’d go straight for teen Jolie. Follow me on IG @thejamesboyle
insanity-and-vanity:

"You call yourself a free spirit, a ‘wild thing,’ and you’re terrified somebody’s gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you’re already in that cage. You built it yourself."
Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961)

dutchster:

this was the result of a korean high school having no rules for their senior photos

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

image

(via everythingpositive)


perks-of-being-chinese:

"what do you plan on being when you’re older?"

image

(via cheetahgirl69420)