I can lift a car up all by myself

Hola. I'm Jasmin, I'm eighteen and that's pretty much all I have to say.

[yoursummerdreamz]

[parkstone-international]

Sewing a butterfly!

[bon----voyage]

[mercilesslyfaded]

[thestudious-deactivated20220904]

more wallpapers for everyone!! hope you like it :)

[liekeland]

[positivedoodles]

[drawing of a green leaf saying “I’ll always beleaf in you!” in a green speech bubble.]

[sanctityofstars-deactivated2018]

Cress by Marissa Meyer “My life is an adventure.” she said, growing confident as she opened her eyes again. “I will not be shackled to this satellite anymore.”

[yoursummerdreamz]

[limestyle]

[cute-baby-animals]

[convexly]

2015 sketchbook by Erica Fustero on Flickr.

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I don’t know. Sometimes you get a line, a phrase, sometimes you’re crying, or it’s the curve of a chair that hurts you and you don’t know why, or sometimes you just want to write a poem, and you don’t know what it’s about. I will fool around on the typewriter. It might take me ten pages of nothing, of terrible writing, and then I’ll get a line, and I’ll think, “That’s what I mean!” What you’re doing is hunting for what you mean, what you’re trying to say. You don’t know when you start.

Anne Sexton, from No Evil Star: Selected Essays, Interviews, and Prose; “How Does A Poem Come Into Being”  (via violentwavesofemotion)

[smartfleshinmilwaukee]

rupture

I tried, I did. 
                                   I did, I tried. did i? blank nonsense writhing from 
my tongue these days. make sense, say why —
                                                                   take a temporary dose of happy-ness. 
 why say?

tradition fuels the artifice, back and forth between necessity and lonely-ness.

and —           this part is puzzling, i said, said i: this day passes too fast for my-self to grasp. these days tremble on                                    like the words i said when i said:                   —— what i said. i rearrange, and re-focus and shift my weight from one letter to the next. fumble for an answer i do not know myself.

and we go on like this for days                            in between the mesh-work of years passed. sketching your eyes frantically on shreds of time like once before, a tactile image straddling  
the glances i made on train journeys and my clouded,                            blundering, visions of hereafter. 
and then— a passing feeling is shot out,                                               it hits. with winged bullets it -barely- skims the surface, causing a wound the size of everything. 
 and, now, instead of standing up                                            we’re falling down.

[determinate]

[culturenlifestyle]

[dailyinspirationquotes]