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I've read so much good fanfiction that canon means absolutely NOTHING to me. Let me live in my own world.

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This Too Shall Pass

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ever since i was a little girl i loved abandoned and dilapidated buildings

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Hello 😇👋,

My family and I are facing incredibly difficult times due to the ongoing war in Gaza 💔. Our dreams and future have been shattered, leaving us feeling lost and without purpose. My brother Ahmad and I have launched a GoFundMe campaign to help us escape Gaza, continue our education, and support our family.

Making a small donation or sharing the campaign — would mean the world to us.

Link: https://gofund.me/ace8d602

Thank you so much for your kindness and support 💖

With gratitude,

Anas Basil

Vetted by @90-ghost & by association

We'll keep doing the little we can till there is a free Palestine.

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Ships with height differences. Reblog if you agree

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do you ever want to gently float up to someone and whisper “this isn’t a debate; i am actually educated on the subject and i’m telling you you’re wrong”

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help my son please 🙏

Hello, friends, how are you? I am deeb from Gaza. You can enter my blog to see my story. There is also a gfm link for donating to my son. I hope I will not be annoying and that you will allow me a minute of your time. Whoever is unable to donate should share my story with his friends, some of whom can donate

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we really devolved as a society when we stopped using fully painted pictures on romance novels and started using cheap photoshop instead 

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Women in a courtyard, Capri, 1881 by Federico del Campo (Peruvian, 1837-1923)

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it's a shame you can't Cool, Silent, and Mysterious your way to being very close to people. we are unfortunately going to have to embarrass ourselves for this

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"You know you didn't have to start like a whole fight club just to date me."

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what are ur fave poems of all-time?

hi 💌 here are some:

“Hanging Fire” by Audre Lorde

“Tired” by Langston Hughes

“Having a Coke with You” by Frank O'Hara

“Love After Love” by Derek Walcott

“Mayakovsky” by Frank O'Hara

“i like my body when it is with your” by E. E. Cummings

“New Year's Eve Prayer” by Jeff Buckley

“Rain” by Roberto Bolaño

“Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver

“Spring Torrents” by Sara Teasdale

“Tulips” by Sylvia Plath 

“A great Hope fell” by Emily Dickinson

“Poem” by Langston Hughes

“Sometimes I Pretend” by Naomi Shihab Nye

“What Was Once the Largest Shopping Center in Northern Ohio Was Built Where There Had Been a Pond I Used to Visit Every Summer Afternoon” by Mary Oliver

“Summer Morning” by Mary Oliver

“You Are Tired (I Think)” by E. E. Cummings

“Sifter” by Naomi Shihab Nye

“Emergency Management” by Camille Rankine

“Thanksgiving 2006” by Ocean Vuong

“Litany” by Langston Hughes

“Suicide in the Trenches” by Siegfried Sassoon

“I heard a Fly buzz - when I died” by Emily Dickinson

“Warning” by Jenny Joseph

“[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]” by E. E. Cummings

“Love Sorrow” by Mary Oliver

“Conversations About Home (at the Deportation Centre)” by Warsan Shire

“Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out” by Richard Siken

“Limited but Fertile Possibilities Are Offered by This Brochure” by Marge Piercy

“The Thing Is” by Ellen Bass

“Mad Girl's Love Song” by  Sylvia Plath

“The Century’s Decline” by Wislawa Szymborska

“A Primer For The Small Weird Loves” by Richard Siken

“Unpainted Door” by Louise Glück

“Spring has come back again” by Rainer Maria Rilke

“Homesickness” by Marina Tsvetaeva

“Don't Hesitate” by Mary Oliver

“There's a certain Slant of light” by Emily Dickinson

“Poem for Haruko” by June Jordan

“To Be Human Is to Sing Your Own Song” by Mary Oliver

“Toward a City That Sings” by June Jordan

“Edward the Confessor” by Eileen Myles (under the cut because I couldn't find it online)

Edward the Confessor by Eileen Myles

I have a confession to make I wish there were some role in society I could fulfill I could be a confessor I have a confession to make I have this way when I step into the bakery on 2nd Ave. of wanting to be the only really nice person in the store so the harried sales woman with several toned hair will like me. I do this in all kinds of stores, coffee shops xerox shops, everywhere I go. And invariably I leave my keys, xeroxing, my coffee from the last place I am being so nice. I try so hard to make a great impression on these neutral strangers right down to the perfect warm smile I get entirely lost and stagger back out onto the street, bereft of something major. It’s really leaning too hard on the everyday. My mother was the kind of woman who dragging us into stores always seemed to charm the pants off the cashier. She was such a great person, so human though at home she was such a bitch, I mean really distant. I imitate her and I don’t do it well. She didn’t leave her wallet or us in a store. I’m just a pale imitation it is simply not my style to open the hearts of strangers to my true personhood. I hope you accept this tiny confession of what I am currently going through. And if you are experiencing something of a similar nature tell someone, not me, but tell someone. It’s the new human program to be in. It would be nice for at least these final moments if we could sigh with the relief of being in the same program with all the other humans whispering in school. I can’t quite locate the terror, but I am trying to be my mother or Edward the Confessor smiling down on you with up-praying hands. I am looking down at the tips of my boots as I step across the balcony of the church excited to be allowed to say these things. Outside my church is a relationship. On 11th street this guy and this woman are selling the woman so they can get more dope. All their things are there, rags and loaves of bread and make-up. And there was— this was incredible. Two men lying by the door of the church giving each other blow-jobs. They were sort of street guys, one black one white. I said hey you can’t do that here. They jumped up, one spit come out of his mouth. If you don’t get out of here I’ll call the cops. Don’t call the cops we’ll go, we’ll leave. That was a shock. That was more than I expected to see in a day. Something about seeing the guy spit come out of his mouth. He didn’t have to do that. I guess I scared him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was scared too.

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Fady Joudah, from the poetry collection [...], excerpt pub. The Yale Review [ID']

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in some other life

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other social media websites im on are like. hawk tuah girl and mr beast are collabing for a festables event. and tumblr is like. here are my top 10 favorite ants

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this is going to have me on my hands and knees dry heaving