bloodfleshandbones:

scornandritz:

Please reblog this if you know how powerful this message can be; if you’ve known anyone to be a victim of rape; if you never want to know how it feels.

Real men don’t rape.

When is this message going to start clogging up our media’s airwaves? When are people going to start shoving this message down everyone’s throats, instead of telling people that a REAL man is someone who is muscular, dominating, and in control of every situation? A REAL person (man or woman) is someone who has respect for every human life and would never suggest even in the slightest that their life and happiness is worth more than someone else’s.

Human rights need to start being at the forefront of every news topic, instead of who Snooki fucked on last night’s episode of Jersey Shore.

(via bloodfleshbones)

You know how some days you wake up and jump out of bed, and everything’s perfect and sunshiny and bright and you know that today is going to be a great day? And other days you wake up and you realize that you’ve run out of insulin, your blood sugar is high, and you have to change your site because the old one is infected and itchy? And then when you go to change your site, so you stab yourself with a needle, and pull out to find that you’ve accidentally hit a vein and the tube is filled with blood, so it’s unusable and you have to pull it out and try again? And when you’re finally done and you hobble downstairs on your aching legs just to hear you’re mom say “Oh, sweetie, I forgot to tell you that you’ve got a dentist appointment today.” and you think, “damn. I am going to need a lot of ice cream to make this a good day.” Yeah. Today’s just one of those days.

samthepuma:

averyandaperture:

flippinelfqueen:

ransomxrabbits:

vzade:

-killerpanda:

herhorizon:

andnothingelsereallymatters:

simplelittleaudreyx3:

untainted:

rustedanchors:

iloveyoulessthanpunk:

(via thelineiwalk)

=( lololol i’m in the 1%

There should be a 1% for people who actually read classic novels outside of school. Like me. I just read Jane Eyre and it’s the greatest mother fucking book ever.

Me: Ooh. I like this one.

My Grandmother: What about this one? It’s green.

Me: Naw. I like the rainbow one. Gotta have pride, you know?

My Grandmother: Caitlyn!!

My Mom: Support. It’s just in support.

Thanks guys. Thanks a lot.

So after posting that story to you yesterday I got a sudden and irresistible urge to go through one of the journals that I had been writing in over the first semester of the last school year. I found one of my favorite things that I’ve written in it, so I thought that I should share it too. I should probably explain that at the time, I was going through a ruff patch with one of my friends, and although everything is okay now, it wasn’t at the time, and this a reflection of that. I was really afraid for her, because she was angry. At absolutely everything, and I still don’t know what for. But I do, and did know that everything? Everything included me.

Heart vs. Head. Where Is Me? I didn’t have to look for her, look after her, not today. That was nice. Didn’t have to have one eye trained on her, didn’t have to hurt. Didn’t have to see her hurt. “That’s good. This is good.” said my head. My heart disagrees. My heart like to bleed. I have to say that I agree with my heart, for the most part. I like the blood. It’s what let’s me know that I’m alive, pulsing and red, shows that my heart’s still beating, and hard. Still, my brain’s right. I could live with a little less bleeding. But, somehow, I can’t seem to pull myself away from the killing fields….

So my dad told me yet again today that I look exactly like my mom when I make a certain face, and that she gives him that look all the time. It was my pissed off face……. I’m not quite sure what that says about our family….

I got bored last night, so I took a walk and wrote a bit by the edge of the sidewalk. I thought I should share what I wrote, especially since I haven’t posted anything for a while. I would love any criticisms of my work, because they would help me get better, but don’t be too hard on me please! The stuff that I write is the one thing that I’m insecure about…

Serenity. The water by the lake lapped clear and cold, blue and aquamarine. The cattails waved back and forth in the breeze, the picture of peace and calm understanding. The evening was crisp and cool, the sunset gilding the plants with gold leafing. The crickets chirped and the water sighed, and the quiet filled the rest of void between the cacophony of day and the symphony of the night. There was nothing to do, no where to be, and not a word to say. It was the time when the wounds made by the day healed, friendships were unbroken and new kinship’s were born. It was the time when everything was solemn, no one would fight and everyone had someone, so no one was alone, and the world? The world was a better place because everything stopped, no body moved, and we were all the same.

(via bloodfleshandbones)

Just wrote a letter to the president, hence the title. It’s actually pretty exciting. I mean, I know that I’ve done this before, in liked Kindergarten, but I don’t think that it actually got mailed. I wonder if he’ll actually write back..

I guess I really should explain this, and I really ought to post something now that I have a tumblr as well, so I guess I’m killing two mockingbirds with one stone. When I joined tumblr about four minutes and fifty-two seconds ago (approximately), it asked me to make up a blog title to post and share. It’s kinda like a motto, I think. So when it asked me what I wanted to say, I thought of about a conversation that I and my friends at summer camp had two days ago, about the same subject. We were all comparing the things that we said the most, with mine being the very obvious one. See, whenever someone tells me a story, I always seem to feel the need to comment, “that’s exciting” no matter what the other person just told me. I feel like it fits all situations actually, good or bad. Bad things can be exciting too, right? So even if I haven’t paid attention at all, or totally missed the point of the story, I can answer in a non-committal way that won’t allow for me to look TOTALLY insensitive. It’s kind of like saying, “Oh. That’s interesting.” It’s exciting.