“My wife is not a handbag. If she doesn’t want to come, she doesn’t want to come. She is her own person and has her own life.”—Thomas Müller when asked why his wife didn’t attend the World Cup In Brazil (via juliyeahh)
America: Where dudes can get unlimited boner pills that have no other medical use but women can’t get birth control pills that prevent cancers, regulate periods, help with menstrual cramping, prevent break outs, and help with cysts.
For example: You are the ugly way I feel about Los Angeles, mouth a smear like sunset singed with citrus burns. Hollywood hill is a smashed pomegranate against your scorched teeth. All the stars walk the red carpet while I write sonnets to your mouth. It’s been too long since the last time we spoke, I’ve forgotten what everyone else looks like — your hands are trees made of smog, and they have taken root in my lungs. I wish this city would burn to the ground.
For example: The last time I fell in love, I broke all the dishes in the kitchen and bled out on the floor. You were not good for me. You held the bandaids, but I told you to put them back in the drawer. I loved being so broken for you — your heart was a hospital without the healing. My parents never taught me that being loved for your wounds was wrong.
For example: Tonight, I am falling asleep without you. I’ve had bad dreams ever since we met, things about dark-haired women that die because they never ran fast enough. I never ran fast enough. I’m still learning what it’s like not to find your face etched into the wood of my floorboards, and I’m failing miserably. You were not good for me.
For example: You were not good for me. You were California burning, and my lungs couldn’t take it. You were not good for me. You were a broken spine I couldn’t set; I was a scab you always picked. You were not good for me.
For example: Get out of my poetry, nobody wants to read about the ways we broke. Get out of my poetry, this isn’t about you anymore. This is about Los Angeles and how much I hate the sky. California wasn’t good for me — nothing about dying is pretty.
“i always hoped my first serious relationship would be my last. I never expected to have to feel the agony of a broken heart. I guess you can never really guess when someone will stop wanting you.”—(via jbtg88)
the only domestic instinct my parents have managed to pass on to me is the tendency to hoard multiple plastic bags in another plastic bags despite the fact that I will probably never need this many plastic bags in my adult life
i knew a dude in college who kept an old Smirnoff bottle full of water on his desk and would casually chug straight out of it in the middle of conversations with new people in order to establish dominance
Marrying young is not the end of my freedom. It means I want to travel and see the world, but with her by my side. It means I still like drinking in bars and dancing in clubs, but stumbling home with her at 2am and eating pizza in our underwear. It means I know that I want to kiss those lips every morning, and every night before bed. If you see marriage as the end of your ‘freedom’, you’re doing it wrong.
napping naked on top of a girl you like is one of the best things you can ever do. like not completely on her but your legs between hers, head on her boobs/ stomach while she’s scratching your head and back. thats the shit i look forward to when Im married
“If I have a daughter
and she starts to
feel the pressure I once felt
I will let her dye her hair
blue, red, green even
I will let her cut it
I will let her wear black eyeliner
I will let her wear
and short skirts
and black ripped jeans
I’ll listen to her cry
and the world
and the universe
And every day
I’ll tell her I love her
I’ll tell her I’m proud of her
I’ll tell her she’s strong
until she realises
she does not
need to be
to be herself”—p.k. – My parents let me go through all the phases I needed in order to fit in with friends, to fit into myself but they always told me that I’d always be enough. It took some time but I know that now. 20/07/14 (via youalonefilltheuniverse)
“How weird it is to think I used to not know of your existence. I somehow lived my life without ever knowing you were a person. Once we met though, god I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since. It’s hard to imagine I used to be able to live my life without you consuming my head with thoughts.”—kmr (disastrous-heartache)
This is my life. I love him so god dammed much. It hurts.
There’s this asshole who every time he sees me with my ukulele he thinks he’s funny and asks “Can you play any Metallica?” but the joke is now on him because I just learned how to play the intro riff to Master of Puppets.
I did it. I fucking did it. He asked me again just like I knew he would and I stared him straight in the eyes without blinking and just fucking shredded on my ukulele