crocobaby:

Do you think every president goes through a awkward first few weeks in office when they’re not sure when’s the right time to ask if aliens are real or not?

(via wsswatson)

"Mother, he is a gentleman.
He is a builder with bricks of moonlight.
He knows the secret places of the earth.
He washes the sleep from the eyes of the souls.
He lets them look on beauty.
He lets them tell him they hate him.
In the mornings, I gather berries and apples.
I scrub his back with rind.
I weave spider-spit, eyelash.
He talks in his sleep pudding, fire, discus,
the things he misses.
He breathes, Your body is my orchard.
I am undulating grass.
I am a field of wheat he parts with his fingers.
Poppies bloom in my veins.
When he kisses me, he tastes pomegranate.
The night crawls nearer.
The moans of the dead roll and swell.
Mother, we are well."

(‘Persephone Writes to Her Mother,’ Tara Mae Mulroy)

(Source: pricklylittleporcupine, via chaolwstfall)

live-as-a-teen:

dogepom:

patickstump:

if you shame girls about their breast size i will push you into traffic

"Who’s flat now?"

whos flat now

(Source: patickstump, via vullpiix)