cknd:

I spend so much time alone that if I was ever falsely accused for a crime I would never have an alibi

Until we have seen someone’s darkness, we don’t really know who they are. Until we have forgiven someone’s darkness, we don’t really know what love is.
Marianne Williamson (via rabbitinthemoon)

(Source: prismcess)

“That’s all right,” she says, and I have to wonder how many times she’s said that to the people in her life who screwed her over somehow.
Unknown (via perfect)

(Source: scuanias)

blankbabe:

we are the last generation whose baby photos weren’t taken on phones

mydogsnokes:

i’ll take my chance with aliens before i mess w/ whatever is at the bottom of the ocean


skankmcmeow:

I see your shifting gaze, that disgusted glance. I know you’re questioning my parenting from across the elementary school assembly.

Let me tell you a little story about the kindergarten student with bright purple hair, my little Raven Marie…

A month before school started she decided to play hair stylist with the craft scissors, and to save what was left I had to opt for a pixie cut. She was absolutely devastated. It was about three hours before she stopped her harsh sobbing and hiccups.

Why?

She has thought that the length of a girls hair was what made her “girly”. I know I’ve personally had many hairstyles around her before, including a purple mohawk, which many people criticized as not being “girly” enough. Media, other children, other parents, and society made it worse. She would randomly burst in tears while out in public for the first week of her new style, screaming that she looked like a boy. That everyone would think she’s a boy.

At one point she took off her bow in her hair, threw it at a cashier and screamed, “I DON’T NEED THIS BOW TO TELL YOU THAT I’M NOT A BOY, BECAUSE I’M NOT”

Proudly stomping away in her blue jean overalls, head held high.

Once we edged closer to the first day of school she kept asking questions like, “Do you think the other kids will like me? Do you think they’ll be my friend? Will they think I’m a boy? Will they pick on me because I have boy hair?”

So I went to the grocery store, bought some dye, and spent the whole night transforming my bright blonde little girl into a plum punk rock fairy. I then assured her that if any of the kids didn’t like her, they were just jealous.

As for you, mothers and teachers with the wandering eyes filled with disgust and judgement, I’m in the business of raising a free spirit.

Here’s to you, Raven Marie. I love you.