My mother won’t stop asking “what’s wrong” and guessing at what could possibly be repressing my good-natured chat and I’m at a loss to explain to a stubborn broad who doesn’t understand, especially when there are no true words.

It’s life. It’s chemical imbalance. It’s opportunities and decisions. It’s confusion.

You can’t put a precious label on that shit, wrap it up in a bow and call it done.

(Source: nerzhin)

(Reblogged from shemustbeonherperiod)

"There’s no hair on her vagina. Do you think she’s okay?"

Rewatching Californication.

From the beginning.

Lorrrrrrrdddddd…..

Pace

yourself before you race into chicken-with-its-head-cut-off mode; it isn’t worth the frazzle when you can take it at a stroll and own each step. Mind the gaps.

Cease and desist.

Quit before I’m over my head.

Coming to the realization that maybe now is not the time for grand schemes and ventures.

I’m coming to conclusions that hurt they’re so real, they come from authentic sources of doubt that are only trying to help prevent bruising failure.

I will strike out in other ways. There are other plans of action. There is not just this one thing.


Nicki Minaj x ‘Club 79’ in Paris

Nicki Minaj x ‘Club 79’ in Paris

(Source: all-nickiminaj)

(Reblogged from eatyourpaisley)

tragicalhistorytour:

Freddie Mercury dancing with the cameraman at Live Aid

(Reblogged from backwardsandinheels)

Ren Rox

(Source: langste)

(Reblogged from owls-love-tea)

(Source: tracy-mcconell)

(Reblogged from goddamnit-castiel)

belle-addams:

furything:

can you believe that there are legal nipples and illegal nipples

That’s it, that’s actually it.

(Reblogged from lordwhat)
(Reblogged from hausucat)

Stomach churns while looking at long lists and inspiration boards, so much to do while low on spoons. But it’s all in my control.

The pace is set at a rate where I can maintain a sense of self. I pick and choose. I wield the power of choice and action while maintaining stability.

I don’t need to search further than that. I really don’t.

When others push the buttons they know will affect me, I react because they play me well, and I am easily read; I don’t exactly make it hard.

At a certain point, I know - but I keep going. I let myself be the crazy bitch who says something brutal and shuts up for a while. Or I say nothing. What kind of world is that?

I’m bouncing, thoughts are too. Living up to expectations won’t leave the forefront and it’s such a waste, unless I can start defining my own.

I like Peter Pan collars.