I, Iâm not the prettiest youâve ever seen
But I have my moments, I have my moments
Not the flawless one, Iâve never been
But I have my moments, I have my moments
occasionally subtle

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@dailyfate
I, Iâm not the prettiest youâve ever seen
But I have my moments, I have my moments
Not the flawless one, Iâve never been
But I have my moments, I have my moments
Ever wish the rain could wash clean your memories? Â Hereâs a little something I wrote about that. Â
Rain For A Hundred Years -John Mark Green
⊠Are You Satisfied? âŠ
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more quotes here!
Set your life on fire. Seek those who fan your flames. Who gets up early to discover the moment the light begins? What was whispered to the rose to break it open last night was whispered to my heart. Youâve gotten drunk on so many kinds of wine. Taste this. It wonât make you wild. Itâs fire. Give up, if you donât understand by this time that your living is firewood. Set your life on fire. Seek those who fan your flames. The lamps are different, But the Light is the same. To change, a person must face the dragon of his appetites with another dragon, the life-energy of the soul. What is the body? That shadow of a shadow of your love, that somehow contains the entire universe. This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and attend them all! Even if theyâre a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Sorrows are the rags of old clothes and jackets that serve to cover, and then are taken off. That undressing, and the beautiful naked body underneath, is the sweetness that comes after grief. You havenât dared yet lose faith â so how can faith grow in you? Gamble everything for love, if youâre a true human being. If these poems repeat themselves, then so does Spring.
JalÄl ad-DÄ«n Muáž„ammad RĆ«mÄ« (via salonduthe)
My new book Lullabies is now available via Amazon, BN.com + The Book Depository and bookstores worldwide.
Itâs not the face, but the expressions on it. Itâs not the voice, but what you say. Itâs not how you look in that body, but the thing you do with it. You are beautiful.
Stephenie Meyer, The Host (via kushandwizdom)
Today I drank 6 cups of coffee smoked 11 cigarettes wrote 5 poems and alltogether spoke 4 words I donât know what happiness is but Iâm pretty sure this isnât anything close.
sad days, alone. (via nicolafuentes)
Sleepless: The first appearance of the morning sun slept across the walls and sheets of my quiet room. Weightless dusts decorate the silence in frozen time. Little does the world within this room know the chaos thatâs inside me. I didnât sleep, yet somehow the sheets have wrinkled through the night. The thoughts endlessly swirl around my mind in thunderous waves, yet the silence dances on around me. My heart sends bursts of murderous thuds through my chest, yet the sun sleeps perfectly in utter content. Iâm in chaos and everything is in order.
jenn satsune (via ohsatsune)
Despite the fact I start every morning with several shots of espresso and eggs in some very basic form, that can get prettyfuckingboring, jafeel? Luckily for me and vegetarians everywhere, The Huffington Post compiled a list of 19 protein breakfast for vegetarians (some are vegan as well). The list and recipe links can be found at Huff Post here.
"Oh captain, my captain."
A boy sprawled next to me on the bus, elbows out, knee pointing sharp into my thigh. He frowned at me when I uncrossed my legs, unfolded my hands and splayed out like boys are taught to: all big, loose limbs. I made sure to jab him in the side with my pretty little sharp purse. At first he opened his mouth like I expected him to, but instead of speaking up he sat there, quiet, and took it for the whole bus ride. Like a girl. Once, a boy said my anger was cute, and he laughed, and I remember thinking that I should sit there and take it, because it isnât ladylike to cause a scene and girls arenât supposed to raise their voices. But then he laughed again and all I saw was my pretty little sharp nails digging into his cheek before drawing back and making a horribly unladylike fist. (my teacher informed me later that there is no ladylike way of making a fist.) When we were both in the principalâs office twenty minutes later him with a bloody mouth and cheek, me with skinned knuckles, I tried to explain in words that I didnât have yet that I was tired of having my emotions not taken seriously just because Iâm a girl. Girls are taught: be small, so boys can be big. Donât take up any more space than absolutely necessary. Be small and smooth with soft edges and hold in the howling when they touch you and it hurts: the sandpaper scrape of their body hair that we would be shamed for having, the greedy hands that press too hard and too often take without asking permission. Girls are taught: be quiet and unimposing and oh so small when they heckle you with their big voices from the window of a car, because itâs rude to scream curse words back at them, and theyâd just laugh anyway. Weâre taught to pin on smiles for the boys who jeer at us on the street who see us as convenient bodies instead of people. Girls are taught: hush, be hairless and small and soft, so we sit there and take it and hold in the howling, pretend to be obedient lapdogs instead of the wolves we are. We pin pretty little sharp smiles on our faces instead of opening our mouths, because if we do we get accused of silly women emotions blowing everything out of proportion with our PMS, we get condescending pet names and not-so-discreet eyerolls. Once, I got told I punched like a girl. I told him, Good. I hope my pretty little sharp rings leave scars.
'My Perfume Doubles As Mace,' (via theappleppielifestyle)
I want to be beautiful for myself. Not for anyone or anything but for myself.
Unknown (via cavum)