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disaparte:

All I want is education, and I am afraid of no one
Malala Yousafzai

(via musicgirl417)

Source: disaparte
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"

“Please don’t tell dad.”
you are six and I am eight,
keeping the bugs at bay and leaning forward
over the murky pond in our forest in Virginia.
Today we are hunting for frogs -
racing to find the fattest to bring home
hidden in our sweaty chubby palms,
to hide in the pillowcase of our least favorite cousin
who is visiting from the country, and is in the first grade, and has not yet learned
how to pray
before eating, or how to say
our last name without an accent.

When you slip and fall, I do not catch you
and I am so scared watching you sink
that for twenty seconds after I do not think
to call for help. When our mother runs
and jumps
into the murky pond she is sobbing.
While she pumps black water from your blue body
I rub a frogs stomach with my little finger.
He is hypnotized, and you are alive
but barely. That night I promise I will never let you die again.

“Please don’t tell dad.”
You are fourteen,
sneaking out with friends for the first time
and I find a stolen bottle of wine
in your backpack. You say dad would have
a heart attack, and I believe you. You say you need this.
You say that you will do
anything that I ask. But I don’t ask.
Instead, I watch you pile into the back of an older friend’s Jeep,
and I am careful not to let the window creek
when I close it behind you.

In the morning I find vomit on your shoes.
I wash them in the sink. I bring you something to drink
and two aspirin. The next month your older friend
hits a cyclist in his jeep,
and kills him. The police find drugs in his system.
They send him to prison.

“Please don’t tell dad”
you are sixteen, and I catch you smoking weed,
catching you needing something
that you do not have. You are sixteen, bleeding and softening,
and when you tell me you want to die sometimes
all I can say is “so do I.” You are sixteen,
so I don’t tell dad that I think you need help
because you tell me you can help yourself.

“Please don’t tell dad”
you say on the phone, and I am nineteen now,
living on my own
eight hours from either place I call home
and I feel guilty for leaving you alone
with him.
But this time it is not about drugs or dead friends.
“I wrote a poem,” you say,
“and I think I might be good at this.
Please don’t tell dad, but I want to be a poet.”

When you hear me crying on the end of the line,
you tell me that it’s fine. That you love me. That you are thankful
for everything I’ve done, for the water in your lungs
and for the drugs and for all the times you’ve needed me
and I have not come.

“Please don’t tell dad,”
you say,
and then thank me.

"

- Poem For My Little Brother on His 17th Birthday; Hannah Beth Ragland (via allmymetaphors)

(via musicgirl417)

Source: allmymetaphors
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danegan:

Holy shit, this is my new favorite thing.

(via fuck--you--aurora)

Source: danegan
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brogan-loves-demetria:

franklycats:

Whenever a guy sleeps with lots of girls he is a “player” but whenever I do it I’m a “lesbian”

I laughed to hard

(via tardis-at-thedisco)

Source: franklycats
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nostalgiaultra:

*DJs at your wedding*

*plays only power metal and refuses to break eye contact with your father*

(via get-indierockedwith-me)

Source: nostalgiaultra
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hermionemollycharliepond:

just-raowolf:

edenwolfie:

my year 8 students had to do a budgeting activity pretending they were living out of home on $2000 a month and I find this written on there help I can’t fucking breathe

We had to do this and I was partnered with a boy whose parents are a scientist and a doctor. My family spawned the book: Top Drawer Villain - autobiography of a London criminal.

First of all, we had to choose where we would shop. He wanted to buy from Booths. “We are not buying from Booths," I snapped. "Get on Asda’s website right now." His face froze.

A-Asda?" he whispered. "But that’s where… The Lower Classes shop.

This was a good start.

We then had to decide on a menu. We started on breakfast. “Toast," he said.

Toast," I said. "Great. Look, Asda has its own wholemeal—

Warburton’s thick-slice white bread. Nothing else. With olive oil.

You WHAT?" I choked. "You have olive oil, on your toast, in the morning?

He frowned. “Who doesn’t?

Okay," I said, "but what will the children eat?

He gaped at me. “The children? We have children?

We continued. All was well until it came to what we would have on our sandwiches. We even sorted out the children’s lunch - they, of course, would get free school meals. “Yes," he agreed; "if we can’t even afford Bertolli then they can get school meals on the government.

He asked what dressing we should have on our ham. “Nuh-uh," I said. "Can’t have ham. I’m vegetarian.

But I’m not.

Yes, but we’re married and we can only afford one sandwich filler so it has to be vege—

We’re married!?

Of course we’re married! You’re devout Christian - how do you think I convinced you to have children?

He shook his head, frowning. “Well I want ham. You’ll have to put back the washing powder - I need ham on my sandwiches.

We continued. Finally, it was dinner. “Okay," he said, clearly thinking hard; "for dinner, we can have… Chicken nuggets and… Beans?

Vegetarian.

Vegetarian nuggets then. And beans.

We need vegetables. The children have to have a balanced diet.

You and your children!" he yelled, and the whole class looked around.

They’re your children too!" I screamed back.

He leapt to his feet, shaking his head and looking distraught. “I don’t believe it - I don’t believe you! I wouldn’t have your children!

Please," I cried, standing up also. "Don’t—

I want a divorce!

And he walked out of the classroom.

The teacher stood up and stared between me and the door through which he had vanished. “I’m sorry," I whispered, "but we couldn’t do it any more. There were just too many differences - I can’t live with someone who thinks champagne is a budget.

I can’t wait to see this guy when he gets to university.

READ THE WHOLE THING

(via fuck--you--aurora)

Source: edenwolfie
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blackdenimjeans:

asvpfrenchie:

disrespectful

I would have retired after that

(via get-indierockedwith-me)

Source: ForGIFs.com
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adhoption:

river-b:

motherfuckinoedipus:

abnels:

memeguy-com:

You win this round cheese

actually that is a rectangle cheese

[oxford comma laughing in the distance]

[vocative comma wondering what oxford comma thinks it’s doing here]

I already reblogged this for the pun but I’m reblogging again for the sick punctuation banter

(via get-indierockedwith-me)

Source: memeguy-com
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deanwinchestersshortshorts:

thumbtackjuicyfruitspork:

You know when a fast angry song comes on that you know every word to and you’re in just the right mood that your eyes light up with the fire and angst of a thousand punk rockers and you just feel so alive

puT ON YOUR WAR PAINT

(via get-indierockedwith-me)

Source: thumbtackjuicyfruitspork
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"someone can be madly in love with you and still not be ready. they can love you in a way you have never been loved and still not join you on the bridge. and whatever their reasons you must leave. because you never ever have to inspire anyone to meet you on the bridge. you never ever have to convince someone to do the work to be ready. there is more extraordinary love, more love that you have never seen, out here in this wide and wild universe. and there is the love that will be ready."

- nayyirah waheed  (via thatkindofwoman)

(via arab-soul)

Source: nayyirahwaheed
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lizzymercierdescloux1979:

things girls do that I love:

  • offer their friends sips of their coffee drinks without being asked
  • scratch each others back
  • say things like “smell this lotion I bought this weekend”
  • compliment each other’s eyebrows 
  • that thing when they agree with you and their eyes get really wide and they nod their head solemnly 
  • throw out each others gum wrappers or chip bags when they get up 

(via fuck--you--aurora)

Source: lizzymercierdescloux1979