we-could-have-danced-all-night:

queerenby:

filisexual:

royalpancake:

a short poem:

do teachers
understand
that you take
other classes

another short poem:

yes but see
they are all
required
by the district
or state
to assign a
certain amount
of gradable
material per
semester so
they can get
paid and earn
raises and bonuses
and keep
their jobs and
funding

a revised short poem:

does the district
or state
understand
that you take
other classes

another short poem:

no

(Source: frenchtoastkarma)

"Cheating is NOT a mistake.
If you’re truly in love with someone, you will not be able to kiss someone else without tasting your loved ones tears stain your lips. You will not be able to take your clothes off for someone else without feeling like a field ripped bare to its soil. Cheating is a choice, its a choice you made because you obviously didn’t give a single fuck about your relationship."

(via buddhabrot)

THIS

(via insane-witch)

(Source: a-sleeping-perspective)

"

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

"

It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)