teenvogue:

College is tough enough as it is, but dealing with a mental illness can make things even harder. 

Here’s how to cope » 

howunpleasant:

friday at school i heard some girl in the hall way scream “FOR THE LAST TIME BITCH IM LESBIAN IM NOT TRYING TO STEAL YOUR BOYFRIEND HE SMELLS LIKE KETCHUP ANYWAYS”

(Source: howunpleasant-moved)

(Source: vinstage)

"And kid, you’ve got to love yourself. You’ve got wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee, and stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn. You’ve got to sit next to the man at the train station who’s reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You’ve got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you’ve got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You’ve got to stop taking everything so goddam personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You’ve got to compliment someones crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You’ve got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that won’t matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You’ve got to stop worrying about what you’re going to tell her when she finds out. You’ve got to stop over thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You’ve got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You’ve got to love yourself."
— Unknown (via crystallized-teardrops)
"i write poetry because my heart bleeds ink and
my hands shake fire, i’ve never written a poem
about hurricanes or thunder, only your soul and
how you called me wallflower, at first i thought
the records that you played were meant to be
heard through the tempo of your soul, but only
when you left did i realize that pain tastes like
strawberry milk at 5 AM when you’re sitting on
sidewalk in black underwear and cigarette burns
on your tongue like bee stings, and when i visit
you in Hell, I hope you tell Satan I’ve come to be
your bride, so i can write another poem about
the way you chewed the words “God is a prison”"
— my sister eats acid  (via irynka)

(Source: senyahearts)

  1. Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark II
  2. Aperture: f/1.6
  3. Exposure: 1/100th
  4. Focal Length: 35mm
"it’s been four years and i haven’t
written a single poem, my boyfriend
asks if this is how i’ve always been,
he describes me as a wildfire, i
laugh and wear lipstick and buy
expensive perfumes and drink
champagne and let electricity spill
from my wrists like oil, i vacuum
two, three - sometimes four times
a day, my therapist says that’s not
a healthy way of dealing with loss
but i tell him that neither are pills,
sometimes he asks me about you,
i say you tasted like the sun and
touched me like i was the moon, it’s
all very sad, you know? the entire
dying part? it’s all very sad, i say,
some days i don’t want to get up,
on Sundays i watch the clock, i cook
potatoes and steak for dinner, he tells
me he likes my dresses and my pink
lipstick and especially when i read
him poetry, i don’t feel guilty when
he thinks they’re about him, i do feel
guilty that they’re always about you"
— i’m sorry it had to end like this  (via irynka)

(Source: clubdoll)