art blog(derogatory)

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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

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@atthebreak0fdawn
If I had the body and ass I would SO wear that 💃🏻
@fucktrickdaddybitch
My heart 😍 I can't wait for my godbabies to be here !!
When you upload your resume & they still make you enter your work experience and education.
I swear
The accuracy
WOW
@cocoaflowerr
A rare ting 💅🏼💅🏼
My life is better because I am accepting who I am rather than regretting who I have not yet become so that I can take gradual steps that are realistic and productive to eventually reach where I hope to be in the future.
creatingnikki (via wnq-writers)
Rihanna attends the ‘Okja’ screening during the 70th annual Cannes Film Festival at Palais des Festivals on May 19, 2017 in Cannes, France.
Have you been in a loop lately? Do you feel like you’ve been living the same day for months on end? It’s really not your fault, life tends to water us like we were meant to be more than just overgrown weeds waiting for the lawn to be mowed. It’s really not your fault, things will work out just fine if you take a second to ponder. Think about your many what if’s and what could’ve have been realities. It’s really not your fault, you’re allowed to cry. Do you ever wonder why the moon is constantly in a state of change? Or how the sun likes to sleep right when the party starts? It’s okay to feel alone, it’s okay to be weak every now and then, you are allowed to be human. Your soul demands it. It’s really not your fault, you’re just tired of the bullshit. So breathe in and breathe out. Your favorite people won’t leave without you. Your favorite song will still be your favorite song when you wake up from a long night. You are strong, you are going to be amazing some day. It’s really not your fault, the universe has a weird way to tell us hello. You get to have feelings for people that you shouldn’t. You get to have feelings for people who are no longer there. Although they’ve hurt you, once upon a time– they loved you. It’s really not your fault if you’re living in the past tense, just remember that your present is just as important. Your future is just a curious version of yourself waiting to burst into colors like a box of melted crayons sitting inside of a summer heated car. Do not be alarmed, you’re just melting. It’s okay to be colorful. It’s okay to properly deal with your hurt by eating your favorite ice cream. It’s really not your fault, they’re just learning too. It doesn’t matter if you start today, tomorrow, next week or next month– it’s just important that you start. And love does have a strange sense of humor, it was just a normal day, you just wanted to buy that new book that you’ve been anticipating for months. You get to fall in love with strangers. You get to start anew. No one’s going to judge you harder than yourself, so get used to loving that pretty smile. Get used to being happy. It starts when you’re ready, so like a masterpiece– you’ve been a blank canvas and the painting is already there, you just need to paint. Prepare your bristles and spray down your palette. You’re going to be someone’s somebody. Your voice will be their favorite song. Your skin will be their favorite chorus, how many times will you hold my hands today? Enough to speak the miracles into truths. Enough to spill ink around the moon. Mask the intensity with a splash of nervousness, won’t you let the real you come out to play? It’s really not your fault, you’re just you. As lovely as you have always been. As good as you’ll try. Arms stretched out to grab the sunrise, won’t you be my favorite rhythm tonight? The wolves will howl, the stars, they’ll shine. It was never our fault to live this life of ours, so go out and live it because you’re the only you that’ll ever happen today. As a matter of fact, it’s almost unbelievable that you’re here. Unique as they come. You’re like the sky, we’ll never experience the same sky twice. There will never, ever be another person like you on this earth ever again. I want to hug you good morning. I want to kiss you good night. So write these poems into your eyes and blink twice because life was meant to be nice, you were meant for this. Whatever your “this” is today, go out and do it. You were designed for this, from head to toe, you may fall, you may tip over, you may try to deny your own beauty– but the stars don’t lie, you were born from the very star that keeps you alive day after day. Don’t waste a single second living the same day over and over again. Wake up, you have changed. Each day bleeding into the next, you weren’t meant to be ran over by a lawn mower. You’re just waiting for the right person to dry press you into their journal. You’re just waiting for the right person to write about you. So I’m writing. And this? This isn’t your fault. We’re all built to be flawlessly flawed, beautifully beautiful, and enchantingly enchanting. It’s really not your fault that I’m writing about you. You needed this.
It’s really not your fault. (via everylittlepieceofyou)
Teenagers today hold the burden of those who are in their 20s, crisis of those who are in their 30s, and deep thoughts of those who are in their 40s and beyond. It’s amazing how they can manage themselves despite of them bottling up emotions to their hearts. They are also awake to the fact that monsters don’t live beneath their beds but inside their heads. It’s ironic for them what is a yes and a no in a relationship, and they fell so freely as if the person who are with them right now is the one they will have forever. This is also the stage where they are good at interpreting songs, and become a fan of diffrent forms of art. Give them a word like ‘sadness’ and their minds can take you places for they can comprehend more than what we expect. Being in this period maybe crucial, but anything fun and unexpected happens here.
I asked you to be superman, not the man of steel.
Alysia Harris (via blvcksh33p)
For two months I tried to be a prison. Tried to keep you here, the way evidence keeps a crime alive. Then love caught me by the chin & started eating my ear. Its voice rang clear, had hardly any distance to it. This is how you make love: you devour everything. You don’t throw up after.
- Alysia Nicole Harris, Votive
WHEN THE POET BECOMES A REALIST Were all sorry that we don’t break as often as we should. Or fall in love as profoundly as the first one. Sorry that we need more then the teas of Christmas Eve to put us to bed. That we need hips now, and dicks, and sleazy music with a heavy bass line. Sorry that we can’t open limber eyes and wake without man handling the morning. What do we do, when all of the bones in our love have fallen out the socket? What do we say to dancing then? But that we had enough of tripping over old skin. A pile of evolution pooling on the floor. We forgotten how to be humble, or human. Looking in the mirror handily recognizable, were over the prostitution but still as young as girls with big dreams, wrinkles where they thin our youth, til there’s nothing more then a white cotton t-shirt that has had one two many battles with the washing machine. We’ve shrunk our bright eyes down to size the way you do tumors, or things you’ve outgrown. Pupils, like half open closet doors. Dark & darker still. With skeletons, threading our eyelashes each time I blink. I don’t start a grave yard, rattle some memory and pluck one more flower pedal from the world. I love you, I love you not half as much as I did at 18. & then not even as half as much as I did at 12. When I was 10 I wrote my first poem. A sonnet. About stars & love. & at 10 I knew nothing about love, only that it was cosmetic. The one line that I could remember is, all this passion leaves to desire. & at that age I never felt passion course in my veins, but I believed I would, because then I believed in anything and anyone. But I hardly do that anymore. Who needs believing when your at the age of reason. Cause now? Now I know everything and everyone. And no one is as beautiful as your idea of them. Nothing is as pure as the fate I lost when I realized that. What do you do when you misplaced your faith in your species? When you can’t find any grace for people? When you start looking for ways to empty them? Do you use your veins as a chock chain for someone else’s heart? When that limp in your gate in just an ape climbing it’s way out of your spine. We are all the animal. And none of the pray. These days everyone’s out for blood, so could you butcher some kindness? Sometimes, I feel smaller than A Swiss Army knife. Is being guarded the only way to live life? Always on the run, so your little bored dreams are not things you step into, like grass from cross trainers you were only meant to chase them. And following you are the two ugly step sisters, age and dream. I know it’s sad, but before I go there’s just a couple things I’ve come to know, butterflies with their wings are just caterpillars aspiring to be the birds that eat them. And evolutions birth dreams but take life’s. And quite trying to climb out of your skin, I don’t care what Andrea Gibson says. Your ribs are not ladders, monkey bars are prison bars. The human heart? Has a pre set number of beats, and loves in a life time. So none of these things should be used lightly as metaphor, & I’m sorry this is true. And I’m sorry for being sorry. But nothing moves me anymore.
- Alysia Harris (via jaydominque)
Are apologies labors of sweat after all? Should I build them from my brow and then salt us an underwater reef, or merely admit I’m human and no…that’s not an excuse. Just meant to say egotism is an easy tide and I’ve never known a shark to be selfless before
Alysia Harris (via wnq-writers)
Mama, I might be God’s daughter and Jesus might save, but I’m still the girl you named and the woman you raised. And there is no one else to thank for that small victory.
Alysia Harris (via thereplacementnotebook)