1)Don’t Change the way you dress for people who won’t notice anyway

2) When they tell you to run you better run and run fast

3) Don’t resent your mother when she says “I told you so”

4) It’s actually harder to like someone than it is to love them

5) Don’t let ANYONE romanticize your pain for any reason

6) No means no

7) Stop also means stop

8) If he doesn’t listen to you, punch him in the dick

9) Don’t be afraid to tell people what you feel. If you don’t like something, tell them. If you do, still tell them.

10) Late night texts don’t determine how much someone cares about you

11) Crying in someone’s arms is the truest form of intimacy and should be the only form you need when your brain and heart look like burnt scrambled eggs

12) Forever is the greatest lie anyone can tell you in any context

13) It should not take two bottles of NyQuil, a note stuffed under your pillow, a phone call at 2:56 AM and $3.50 in gas for you to understand you aren’t worthless

14) If you don’t want them to have your number you don’t have to give it to them

15) If you have cried together it means more than if you have slept together

16) If they are willing to walk you back to your room in the middle of the night while your shaking and cold they mean something. In some way they mean everything.

17) “Friend” does not mean fuck buddy and it never will

18) Just because I can doesn’t mean I want to

19) Understand what your Dad means when he says “I don’t like him”

20) Never say “You didn’t mean shit to me” or “I never cared about you anyway”. They were always shit. You still cared about them though.


20 things I’ve learned the hard way and need to remember (via ghost-cuddles)

"He never really appreciated art. So he never really appreciated people. What I saw a masterpiece he just saw nothing. It’s true that people interpret art differently, but he never saw anything to it. Maybe that’s why he made me feel so numb. When I looked I at him I saw a Picasso. But I swear to god, when he looked at me, he saw nothing at all."

Still working on this shit ugh. (via last-bluess)


there are identities strung throughout my mind going back years and years and years.
i can remember every detail of every friend and family member that i have ever known,
and the faces of every stranger,
lines of pain etched in their gentle skin.
ask me who my friends are, and i will supply you with a series of metaphors and comparisons
that sum them up perfectly.
ask who my family are, and i shall paint you such a delicate painting with words that you will gasp at their personas.
but there is no definition for me.
i do not know how to string together the right combination of twenty-six letters
to trick you into thinking that i am a person of my own
with my own identity.
i exist within other people;
i am a page from her story and a chapter from his.
for my friends i may be twenty pages
and for my family i may be twelve.
but my own book does not exist;
the pages are scattered throughout the lives of those i have loved and lost.
all that i can tell you about myself is that i am a peculiar person,
who is more skilled at undressing her mind than her body.
i am not a person, i am a collection of words,
an endless combination of twenty-six letters that invade other people’s stories
and hides there until she is kicked out and moves on to the next one.
every movement is permeated with the knowledge that i am no one,
and how i have been shaped by the opinions of me that other people possess.

and so many people, myself included,
have yet to learn that we define ourselves by the best that is in us;
not the worst that has been done to us.


i don’t know who i am anymore because everything i feel and everything i do is because of someone else and i don’t think i even exist outside of other people and i don’t know if i even have a soul of my own - j.k.m. (via ink-hands)

"You told me
That you couldn’t fix me
That I was broken beyond your repair
But that didn’t stop me
From still thinking
That you were going to save me
And I hate that
I hate that when I think of you
I think of autumn nights
Spent tangled in your bed
Rather than you
Tangled in another woman
I hate that you remind me of Christmas lights
That I associate you with my favorite things
If you asked for me back,
I would say,
“You must really think I hate myself”
When I think of you,
I think of autumn,
I think of winter,
The point is
Missing you is seasonal
It is not permanent"

Seasonal by Orianna Valentina (via sappy—bullshit)


Go for it.

"Thigh gaps.
Flat stomachs.
Curvy hips.
Long hair.
Protruding collar bones.
Large boobs.
I am expectations.
I am standards.
I am not enough.
I am Society’s daughter.
From the day we emerge from the womb, we are raised not by our parents, but by the media.
From the day we emerge into the world that will show us no mercy, we are nothing but the slaves of society, ready to be whipped and tortured into the perfection we will never reach.
It is with horror that I say that I fell victim to this insanity. I let myself bow down to the communism of looks, the Hitler of femininity, the evil of societal standards.
I let myself be ruled by men who will never understand what it is like to be a woman.
I let myself stand in the shower, caressing myself with the claws of desperation, painting myself with the hues of my blood, pain, tears, anger, envy, longing, desire, depression, self-loathing, hatred, drawing over the temple that is my body with fingertips that seek nothing but answers to the burning curiosity rooted within me: Am I good enough?
I have asked myself countless times: Am I good enough? Pretty enough? Bold enough? Sexy enough?
But I know better now.
So when I have a daughter, when I have a child who is crying to me about not being skinny enough, mature enough, pretty enough, sexy enough to be deemed fuckable by the men of our society, the same men who do not know her, her smile, the sparkle in her eyes when she laughs, the redness of her skin when she cries, her favorite animal, her middle name, her, and know nothing of her but the size of her breasts, I will speak to her.
I will tell her the truth. I will tell her the secret of surviving in this society.
I will tell her that she is worth more than strange men who would or would not want to paint her body with their claws.
I will tell her she is worth more than the color of her hair. I will tell her she is worth more than that short dress that doesn’t make her ass look perfect.
I will tell her she is worth more than that Sephora gift card. I will tell her she is worth more than a double zero. I will tell her that she is worth more than a 34C.
I will tell her she is worth more than the goddamn credentials that prove that a girl is suitable to be fucked.
That she is enough.
That she is not standards.
That she is not expectations.
And I, mark my words, I will fucking tell her that she is more than large boobs.
Protruding collar bones
Long hair.
Curvy hips.
Flat stomachs.
Thigh gaps.
I will raise her as my own goddamn child, not as Society’s daughter."

- Society’s Daughter; lydiasariel {i had this on my old blog, but i accidentally deleted, so reposting} (via lydiasariel)

My, oh my.

"And if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself… get a better mirror. Look a little closer. Stare a little longer. Because there’s something inside you that made you keep trying, despite everyone who told you to quit. You built a cast around your broken heart and signed it yourself; You signed it “they were wrong”. Because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a clique. Maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything. Maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth to show and tell, but never told.. because how can you hold your ground if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it? You have to believe that they were wrong."

Shane Koyczan (via stormie4ever)