I donât understand why some people arenât okay with sitting at home doing nothing like why do you need to be with your friends constantly donât you ever want time to yourself jesus christ
DEAR READER
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Discoholic đȘ©
đȘŒ
NASA
Sade Olutola
Misplaced Lens Cap
Stranger Things
Three Goblin Art

⣠Chile in a Photography âŁ

Product Placement
I'd rather be in outer space đž
YOU ARE THE REASON
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Claire Keane
occasionally subtle
h

Janaina Medeiros
we're not kids anymore.
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@diaryorpoetry
I donât understand why some people arenât okay with sitting at home doing nothing like why do you need to be with your friends constantly donât you ever want time to yourself jesus christ
I am homesick for a place I am not sure even exists. One where my heart is full. My body loved. And my soul understood.
(via queenxkimberly)
I believe in boys with sad eyes and soft smiles. I believe in girls who roar back at the thunder and still kiss like the first time they fell in love. I believe in the people whoâs skin never felt like home to them, so they carved home out of the dust beneath their shoes and kept on going. I believe in all the ones who are told they donât belong. I donât think I belong either. I donât know what it means to âbelongâ but I know the ones shouting have nothing to offer, that fitting in is the fad diet weâre all starving ourselves to. I believe in us. The ones who have never felt good enough. I believe in the girl next door, who likes to be called âherâ but who woke up, today, with a gender that felt like hand spun wool and spilled milk, and who still doesnât know how to tell her mother. I believe in the ones dating the wrong people so their parents wonât have to know who it is they want to love. I believe in a fear like that. I believe in the kindness of strangers and I believe that turning a blind eye isnât what makes you bad. It only makes you scared like the rest of us. I believe people learn to be brave. I believe in the hands picking flowers as much as I believe in the hands that plant them. Because sometimes our hearts are too big for our bodies and they like to go bumping against each otherâ sometimes, love doesnât mean what you think it does. You and I donât love the same, but we are, all of us, out here loving. I believe in the collection of fingerprints you pick up from everything in the world you have ever touched. If I believe in anything, I believe that that is enough. âAshe Vernon
artwork by Kaethe Butcher Illustrations
You always looked so uncomfortable in your skin like you wanted to cut yourself out and put me in just for a moment so I could feel how thin life felt when everyone you loved treated you like sin.
Excerpt, Skin -Tonderai (via diaryorpoetry)
My problem is that you are my solution
(via ocheano)
Mind full of fantasies, But no one to live them out with
diaryorpoetry
A big part of emotional intelligence is being able to feel an emotion without having to act on it.
(via psych-facts)
"For how long do we stay trapped in oblivion of the realities and responsibilities that will positively shape the face of our society? For how long?"
Ifeoma Theodore Jnr, E
it happens the second you percieve me
your eyes rise and get caught by my hair
notice itâs not like yours, itâs kinky and
seems to be growing in the wrong direction
your eyes drop and rest on my cheek
the wrong colour: confirmed
you once over my clothes: of course
crop top, sneakers, i couldnât have learned
-decision already made.
your eyes are suddenly absolutely empty
averted
i donât need to ask to know
if you say anything at all, it will be no
youâre already looking for the next middle-aged man with more
desirable skin
to have your superiority asserted.
i feel the bile rise
close my eyes and relax my tingling limbs
i will not be driven to violence today, by your sins.
they say difference in colour is only in the skin
but i know thatâs not always true
itâs not the case with me and you
Iâm brown on the outside, but red deeper in
you are white through and through
because you are cold as ice on the inside, too.
Dreaming of you is a little like listening to the song inside a sea shellâyou canât see the waves or smell the salt but its call can make you feel like youâre there by the ocean. I know youâre not really here. But when you miss a thing this badly, even the illusion is enough.
Beau Taplin // S e a  S h e l l  S o n g s (via afadthatlastsforever)
âHer beauty cannot be defined by the standards of a colonized mind.â
Wow wow wowđđđ
this is the sort of woman wars are started over
MY ASPIRATIONS
praying that i age like the flowers do, more beautiful with every day and change and even the death leaves in awe.
I am riding in the passenger seat, listening to my mother talk about the ways love has failed her. She has been called âwifeâ by four men, âgirlfriendâ by eight names she has slipped into conversation, âloverâ by strangers I will never meet. When I curiously ask, âWhy stay married if youâre unhappy?â, she goes stiff. âYou donât understand,â she says defensively. âYouâre just a kid.â I am seventeen the first time a boy mentions marriage to me. We are giddy from the idea of gaining light by revealing our dark to each other. We have no idea that one day, when we are sharing a bed, we will look forward to getting away from each other in sleep. At nineteen, I am doodling in the margins of my college notebook, when my teacher says, âSecond marriages have a 67% chance of ending in divorce. Third marriages have a 73% chance. And if youâre on your fourth, well, really, what are you doing?â I think of my mother in her fourth unhappy marriage. I think of my father in his fifth. I wonder if picking myself up and trying again is in my genes. I do not pick myself up and try again when I learn that I am not going to marry the first person I loved. I pack my tiny world into two suitcases while he is at work and leave the photos of us to die on his wall. I write lots of shitty poetry and tell my ghosts to âkeep quietâ when I think nobody is listening. The next time a boy knocks on my chest and asks, âHow deep do you go?â I do not show him. I say, âInfinitelyâ and leave when he complains about the spaces in me he will not be able to fill up. My ninety-year old grandma, with her silver hips and bullet-wound lips, tells me, in a thick accent, that âNice girls should be married.â For years, I watched her treat love as the greatest task on her âto-do list,â always cooking and cleaning to keep the relationship alive. But I am too weak, too selfish, too young to carry the weight of love. And I am trying to first settle the disorder in my head before I think about being sharing my bed.
Lora Mathi, Forever Is Too Large To Promise (via quotedbook)
Elevated
Your strong arms showed me the Only way to succeed was to not Underestimate myself but rather
Listen to the criticism of others when Inside it hurts to hear, and though I Feel ruined and worthless, I should Take those words and with them   Make a new beginning, to build an Escape from my sorrow and rise above,
Unrestrained, to soar with the eagles Protected always by your love.
I am not the sum of lovers I had or never had. As for lovers who left, consider them hair. Sometimes you cut it off for it to grow longer and more beautiful (but that doesnât mean you hate pictures of yourself with it). Even after lovers you remain Beautiful
- Tapiwa Mugabe đ