I love them in museums, on buses, sitting compact
in trains and on airplanes, running their fingers
through their hair, drunk at parties, stumbling home,
long-limbed and full of awkward grace, boys, yes,
lay on top of me or lay beside me, breathe light into
my ear. I love them angry and confrontational or soft
and philosophical. I want to curl up inside of them,
read their palms, make them pasta and bread
from scratch. I love them kissing me in the backseat
of a taxi cab or alone on the street corner, lost,
trying to find their way home. I love their throats,
their knobby elbows, their spines beneath a soft
cotton shirt. I love them at home, poised readily
over my Keurig, asking which flavor, if I want sugar.
I love their hands in my hair, undoing the braid,
fingernails to my scalp, yes, more, please don’t stop.
I love them in doorways, at the grocery store among
the cereals and unpronounceable cheeses; I love them
at night, pale shadows under lampposts, walking
away from me and into the men they’re going to be.
Kristina Haynes, “Boys” (via fleurishes)

(via fleurishes)


doctor who meme | two planets (1/2)

↳ gallifrey » Ah, you should have seen it, that old planet. The second sun would rise in the south and the mountains would shine. The leaves on the trees were silver. When they caught the light every morning it looked like a forest on fire.”

(via doctorwho)

Johnny said once, Eating with someone is really intimate
and it’s stuck with me. So I decline dates at restaurants
because he’s right and it’s too soon and, anyway,
maybe I’ll hate how these long-necked boys
who don’t know how to hold a fork eat. I’ve written
a lot of things for him, Johnny, more than he knows about.
I am 22 now so naturally I miss everyone.
I am 22 so I roll my eyes when someone says love.
Dad has the air conditioner all the way up but I’m still
waking up sweating. My brother has taken to degrading
women in that casual way that boys do—flick of the shoulder,
dark-eyed, he is my father in miniature, but I love him,
as sisters do, even if I don’t agree with his mouth.
I wanted this poem to go somewhere important
but I keep looking over my shoulder. I hate mornings.
I keep spilling my guts out to strangers on the internet,
and this is not the first time I waxed my legs for a boy.
We’re all fighting over who we’re going to take home
and I’m still pretending I can play the clarinet.
Everyone keeps complimenting my nail beds.
Remember mood rings? Mine stays black.
Kristina Haynes, “Johnny Said Once” (via fleurishes)



Happy Birthday Harry James Potter; July 31st 1980

Happy Birthday, Harry! And happy birthday, J.K. Rowling!

(via collegehumor)

Trust no one

Part of being an adult is that you have to deal with people who will go around things, cover up, get behind your back, and hold back what they really think. Because that’s how adults are. They are not saying what they think anymore, not like children do.

Straightness and honesty is very valued by me, but it’s so rarely found in the world of adults. And I don’t mean that everyone is a fucking liar or cheater, it just bothers me very much that people won’t say what they really think. In each others face, of course. Because they will say it, oh they will, just not to you, but to someone else.

The fact that people are so woozily avoiding conflict sickens me. Yes, being in conflict is not the most pleasant thing, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. You have to face it. And the key word is to face it. Not to “back it”. Don’t be such a pussy for fuck’s sake, just tell it honestly what your problem is, and tell it to the person whom you have a problem with.

I always believed in people, and trusted them. Because the thing about honest people is that they would assume the same from others. But it’s not the same. So the honest people are forced to keep it in as well (it’s still a better solution than to tell it to the wrong person), otherwise people will cast it up eventually. That’s why sometimes I just don’t like talking to anyone.

Most people hate to hear the truth. And I know that sometimes their objection with it is the mode how you tell that truth. But here’s the thing: if you wrap it up then it’s not the truth anymore. If you give a makeover to it, if you make it nicer, than it’s not the same thing anymore, it’s already prepped. And the truth is raw. That’s what I believe at least.

So next time when you’re holding it against me that I’m arrogant, not nice or that you don’t like the way I’m phrasing things, think about it: who would you rather trust? Someone who speaks nice to you, but then goes behind your back, or an honest asshole. Because frankly, I would rather be an asshole. And I know I am, and yes, sometimes I don’t have a reason to be one, I’m aware of that. But 90% of the times, I’m being an honest asshole for a reason. So if I’m being one, then take a good look in the mirror first, and think about the reasons why. Most of the time you don’t even have to do that, because I will tell you exactly why.

I don’t have any problem with people not liking me if it’s because I stood up for something, or because I’ve been honest. Yes, I fucking use sarcasm, but stupid people provoke it out of me. And the thing is the people who are honest with me, I never find it hard to be nice to them, so go figure.

Tip-toeing around things was never my cup of tea, and I know this is the reason many people like me, as well as some people hate me. Might sound harsh, but I’m sure there are people who don’t like my face one bit, and it’s not that it doesn’t matter to me, yes, it would be nice to be liked/loved by everyone, but it also would be fucking boring.


people who survive the summer with long hair are surviving the apocalypse 

(via therealkatsketch)


»working on my novel« by cory arcangel

working on my novel is a book which is based on a twitter feed that re-tweets the best posts featuring the phrase “working on my novel.”

pre-order it here


"Some good advice I found in a bathroom." -raym0ndv2


"Some good advice I found in a bathroom." -raym0ndv2

…and I always will be.

(via doctorwho)

I want to sleep like this.

(via darksilenceinsuburbia)

I’m not in love with you anymore. And yes, I’m sure.