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Who am I

Read Me

My Drawings

Eh

AM, RFG, Unnamed Crush, PF, Mom and Dad, Roommate, Housemate, former me and future me, public opinion and unnecessary pain, love gone wrong and right. You’re all in here. And for that I truly am sorry. Enjoy the monsters, they’re all on me.

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run

run

(via xoxogossipabbey)

Kid hooker

She turned tricks

Around and around

Again, around

The same old block

The same old fuck

Not giving a fuck

While giving a fuck

For the prize of coins

And cigarettes. 

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Modern Love

He only popped up as a name on the screen a few times. Hello. Hola. Hey. How are you. All the H-words made to start a conversation. She never replied, but sometimes wondered why he bothered trying still. It was only occasionally now, a few random times. He fell in with the others. His name was a bit different though, so some times she kind of remembered she´d seen it before. Mauricio. Hello. Hola. No reply.

Little did she know how much he thought about her. About that one great night. She didn’t even remember the night - or, rather, she did, but in her mind it was the night her friend puked on her shoes and she had to take her contacts out for her, the night in Barcelona, one of many wonderful, drunken, silly nights, a night which details she couldn’t recall but knew she´d had fun. For him it was different. Way different. It was the night The Night, THE NIGHT he met his goddess, his princess, his angel, his queen, the woman who made all those stereotypical stupid names sound just right. He bought her a drink, they danced under the stars. They sat down for a second drink and talked and talked, in flawed spanish and in english, with their eyes as much as their mouths. She was smart, funny, serious, yet light. He tried to be intelligent, humorous, interesting.

They clicked, the talked, they danced, and in a wonderful harmony with the beach and the breeze and the hot summer night, they kissed and became one with the universe. Then her friend needed her, her friend was drunk and with some shady guys. She gave him her number and her name and a hope in his heart, a spring in his step and a smile wider than ever before. The next morning he texted her, he texted her again and called her. Her phone was off and stayed off. He tried her Facebook, he found her. She had a name as unique as her beauty. Her smile greated him from her faebook page, her wit followed suit. He missed her though he hardly knew her, he felt her thought he didn’t know where she was. He could taste her on his lips, feel her in his fibers. She was his. She would be his again. The nights rhythm swelled in his blood, he knew she was thinking about him too.

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lupita, incomplete

lupita, incomplete

incomplete, mechanical pencil

incomplete, mechanical pencil

(Source: sarahalldolledup, via sanfrancisco1967)

she’s not perfect;
no
but when we’re lying down
on our bed
and she fits my limbs
so easily
when she’s dragging her lips
on my neck
even in her sleep
i guess i’m allowed to boast
that she’s pretty
damn close

(Source: friscoflush, via alexandriamcqueer)

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(Source: battle-of-evermore, via bleuraevynne)

Why thank you style.com for being retarded 

Why thank you style.com for being retarded 

utah blue sky im listening, im glistening utah blue sky and im gone

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Runner

Downlow

Beneath the surface

of faces friends family

Downlow

Who are you?

Under your skinny figure and fancy clothes

to tell me

blowing carefully constructed hair from your face

you´re better than me

Bigger than me (because you´re smaller than me)

More important than me, more

Successful than me

Who

Yes just who are you?

And who allowed you, constructed the word so that,

You

Perceive yourself as 

Above me?

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TO:

All the ugly girls who hide pimples behind

long bangs and pain behind

fake fuck-it-all-attitude, mastering the art of fandom

online, seething pain through

not-so-well-written, thinly disguised metaphors for their own lives fan fiction

and or original (well not so much) novels

about a female hero conquering dragons, virginity and

self-doubt,

finding out that she well duh is of course pretty for

no one could ever possibly want to read about an ugly girl,

an ugly girl, like you,

hiding behind bangs and crippling self loathing,

an ugly girl who´ll one day realize

a. appearances are nothing and b. she is worth so much more

than a random pretty face.

For ugly girls who one day realize

for the millionth time that they are indeed not pretty - but for the first time in

their life they too realize that it doesn’t fucking matter

what so ever.

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Wildflowers

Wildflowers

in the spring

open up like your arms

Wafer thin yet strong

Perfect for their purpose

were their purpose to hold me

So tight

Yet so lightly

Then wither away

Like wildflowers

In autumn 

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