(18+)
h

Product Placement
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

blake kathryn
we're not kids anymore.

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
One Nice Bug Per Day
art blog(derogatory)

pixel skylines
EXPECTATIONS
The Bowery Presents
KIROKAZE

No title available
No title available
macklin celebrini has autism
occasionally subtle
$LAYYYTER

ellievsbear
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

seen from Türkiye

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from Belgium
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from Bulgaria
seen from United States

seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States

seen from Italy
seen from United States

seen from Netherlands
seen from United States

seen from Israel
@0rthorexia
(18+)
Addiction
It’s hard to love others when you can’t even love yourself.
(via dear-lex)
I always hate getting flashbacks from things that I don’t want to remember.
(via dear-lex)
I feel so numb that I can’t even cry anymore
W I N T E R G R L W N D R L A N D
1.13.17
dear everyone who reads this,
YOU ARE IMPORTANT. i cannot stress this enough! someone somewhere will most definitely miss you if you were to disappear one day. YOU MATTER. ignore anyone who says differently, because they’re just living a sad sad life.
so,
if you’re looking for a sign not to give up, this is your sign. i love you & you’ll never be alone. message me please. stay safe and think this through.
much love. sincerely, a friend. x
i can’t believe that this is living
you wanna know whats fucked up? that i don’t ever want my crush to like me back. yep. why? because i’d never wan’t him to get bullied for liking someone as ugly and as fat as me.
bad day
(18+)
The Thing About Trauma
It’s not as easy as being Something That Happened to You, a package you opened once.
You will wake up in a new ZIP code, have to wander your way home, carry a few of the things you love to this new place you live in now.
& so you buy throw pillows. You put up twinkle lights and have a big celebration, point at the open windows and tell everyone who has ever seen you crying,
look,
look how I have not caged myself, look what I have made out of two paint buckets and the blessing of my still-here body,
but, of course, trauma leans into the bar cart. Spills a drink on the new rug. Breaks off the door handle on his way out.
Trauma sends you letters, without warning, for the rest of your life, usually disguised as something else—
a medical bill, maybe, or a box of photo albums packaged up by your father, just so you remember trauma knows exactly where you live— who did you think built the house?
(18+)