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699,511 notes (via smoothmovesailor & reigntheblade-deactivated201112)
I don’t even want to waste words on scum of the earth like you.
I am sorry.
I did not treat you right.
We were not made for each other.
I did not handle it the way I should have.
Uhh. Hey. What’s up?
Stick with the drums, man. Practice, a lot. Until you’ve got blisters on yer fingers. And pick up the guitar. Practice that too. Until your fingers bleed.
And confidence, man. Wear it. Often. It looks good on you.
Don’t spend so much time moping about your losses. Spend more time being thankful for what you’ve got, and anticipating what’s to come, cause trust me, buddy. It’s good. Damn good.
“you wanna see my breasts” i say seductively to my boyfriend. i unbutton my shirt to reveal two large, succulent cuts of meat. i am a chicken. why do i have a boyfriend. why am i wearing clothes
71,740 notes (via sexloveandnerdystuff & junkoes)
I was 17, and five years to the day I can’t say I was worry free.
My dad was a really cool guy. I wish he had had more of an influence in my life. I wish we had been closer. I wish we spent more time together, or that I knew more about him.
I wish I had been sad when he died. But I was just ready to sleep.
And then I was angry. I was very mad. All the time.
I was angry that he didn’t get to see me graduate.
I was mad he was gone at all. It was like he left us for someone else.
I was mad that I was stuck with the responsibilities of being a father figure for his youngest kid, and the one on the way.
But everything happens for a reason.
If he hadn’t died, I would have gone to school. And if I was in school I wouldn’t have met the love of my life.
So I can’t say it’s been all bad.
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