THEMES THAT YOU LIKE
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britney michelle
17
strawberry lemonade lover
gypsy fanatic
and i think you're lovely

thesassmastergeneral:

I TRIPLE DOG DARE YOU TO KISS ME HAHA LOSER NOW YOU HAVE TO


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damndimples:

damndimples:

zayn looked so fucking attractive today

i’m guessing 

(via iamsofunny44)


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takethispainawaywithyourkisses:

"You never do anything for me" … 😒 on We Heart Ithttp://weheartit.com/entry/112765270/via/depressedbutokayx

right?!
"

Do not be so sweet
That people will eat you up.

Nor so bitter that
They will spit you out.

"

Pashto Folk Saying (via nainareign)

(via casualitiesofateenageintrovert)

fukkkres:

when people ask you what ur gonna do with ur life and ur like

image

i donno

but you do know and in ur head ur like

image

fuck bitches and get money what da fuck you think

(via alt-jrakeandjosh)


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peaceful-moon:

carsonreneau:

Astotin Lake.

☮ nature aฏ๎๎๎๎๎๎๎๎๎๎๎๎๎๎๎๎๎๎๎๎๎๎d good vibes ☾
"You can’t order a poem like you order a taco.
Walk up to the counter, say, “I’ll take two”
and expect it to be handed back to you
on a shiny plate.

Still, I like your spirit.
Anyone who says, “Here’s my address,
write me a poem,” deserves something in reply.
So I’ll tell a secret instead:
poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes,
they are sleeping. They are the shadows
drifting across our ceilings the moment
before we wake up. What we have to do
is live in a way that lets us find them.

Once I knew a man who gave his wife
two skunks for a valentine.
He couldn’t understand why she was crying.
“I thought they had such beautiful eyes.”
And he was serious. He was a serious man
who lived in a serious way. Nothing was ugly
just because the world said so. He really
liked those skunks. So, he re-invented them
as valentines and they became beautiful.
At least, to him. And the poems that had been hiding
in the eyes of skunks for centuries
crawled out and curled up at his feet.

Maybe if we re-invent whatever our lives give us
we find poems. Check your garage, the off sock
in your drawer, the person you almost like, but not quite.
And let me know."

"Valentine for Ernest Mann," Naomi Shihab Nye, 1952 (via focloir)

(Source: poets.org, via focloir)