Hold My Hand

Maybe there aren’t any such things as good friends or bad friends- maybe there are just friends, people who stand by you when you’re hurt and who help you feel not so lonely. Maybe they’re always worth being scared for, and hoping for, and living for. Maybe worth dying for too, if that’s what has to be. No good friends, No bad friends. Only people you want, need to be with; people who build their houses in your heart

My underwear doesn’t have to match. I don’t have to shave my legs for you. My tits are not yours to cover up. I’ll get whatever the fuck I want tattooed. I’ll go shirtless if I feel like it. I’ll wear a balaclava if I feel like it. I’ve only got two parents and both of them recognize my independence. See, the part you are missing is that I’m a human being and not property. Stop telling girls what they can and can’t do, they are not yours to own. If your boyfriend or girlfriend doesn’t like your body and what you do with it, let them find another one. If they tell you you’re fat, grab your pudge in the mirror and tell yourself you are fucking fabulous. If they tell you that your piercing is stupid, rip theirs out. If they tell you that you can’t have your tits out, ask them where the deed to your body is hidden so you can burn it. Stop being nice to people who offend you. If you’re angry, let them have it. You don’t owe anyone a smile and a polite nod.

My older brother received a call at two pm on a Thursday,
That his roommate from college
And best friend from high school;
Overdosed and died,
Last Wednesday night.

My brother is 25 years old.
He missed three days of work, sat at home in the dark,
And cried for the first time in six months.
This is not poetry.

My father is very, very sick.
He sleeps for seven hours,
To build up a half hour of strength,
Just so he can pick me up from school.
He hasn’t been well in over a year.
And still,
He prays every night, “Thank you God, for making this happen to me, and not my children.”

I am swallowed in fear,
That soon enough, he will go to bed,
And never wake up.
This is not poetry.

There are thousands of people,
fighting cancer,
and war,
and death,
just to have one more day,
In hopes that it will get better.

And still,
You people glorify sadness,
and long for your death,
because apparently life,
is just too much of a burden.
Wake up, your ignorance is sickening.
Your life is thousands of times more beautiful,
Than your death will be.

—For My Father, S.Skavdahl (via lopmon)

(via a-ltruism)


—My Chick Bad


My Chick Bad Remix- Millionaires

yeah. i just posted this. i think it’s hilarious.