AAA, 22 : NYC

Easy on the eyes but what you see really isn't what you get. Forever misunderstood. Rare Breed. Endangered species.



ME
houseofbourbon:

Kate Moss photographed on the set of a shoot for Vogue by beauty editor Francesca Tolot in 1994.

illbeoutback:

If you’re protesting abortion, the Supreme Court says you can get right in women’s faces and scream at them on their way into the clinic. Because freedom of speech.

But if you try and protest the murder of a black man, you get tear gas fired at you.

130186:

Stéphane Rolland Fall 2009

You knew you liked her when
she was talking about her life one day
and in the street the drunk women were fighting
and the young men were playing house music
and there were Muslims praying amidst all this
and the taxis were honking their horns all around her in a circle of chaos

so she went back inside in all her calm

and where the two of you are now, in a different town
and different time, there are dogs barking outside
and you love the way
her name feels behind your mouth.

She puts cinnamon on tomatoes
white pepper on carrots
mustard seeds on unlikely things
and takes wine and ice with breakfast.

She sits awake at night
and dreams with open eyes
so you are not afraid to tell her
every time you want to run.

There was a time when fingers on
white walls made you nervous
a time when you didn’t pray so much
a time when you worried about what the men in the street had to say

a time when you weren’t yourself
they tell you you’re an abomination to God
how so? You speak to God more often now
than ever before.

She sketches jellyfish
and planets
smokes a broken white pipe
and you feel like an instrument
that she’s had for years.

You pool pennies together
for dinner, most nights
but you’re happy.
You are. You’re happy.

'she puts cinnamon on tomatoes'

Yrsa Daley-Ward, ‘bone.’

now available at amazon.com

(via yrsadaleyward)

When it is but it aint


Some of us love badly. Sometimes the love is the type of love that implodes. Folds in on itself. Eats its insides. Turns wine to poison. Behaves poorly in restaurants. Drinks. Kisses other people. Comes back to your bed at 4am smelling like everything outside. Asks about your ex. Is jealous of your ex. Thinks everyone a rival. Some of us love others badly, love ourselves worse. Some of us love horrid, love beastly. Love sick love anti light. Sometimes the love can’t go home at night, can’t sleep with itself cannot contain itself, catches fire, destroys the belly, strips buildings, goes missing. Punches. Smashes heirlooms. Tells lies. The best lies. Fucks around. Writes poems, impresses people. Chases lovers into corners. Leaves them longing. Sea sick. Says yes. Means anything but. Tricks the body. Kills the body. Dances wild and walks away, smiling.

— Yrsa Daley-Ward (via yrsadaleyward)
kushandwizdom:

Words of Emotion

stayburned:

it seems that everyone i’m friends with is better friends with someone else and that really fucking sucks 

Drunk text me. Text me when the music is loud and there are girls dancing around you and you’re not quite coherent and you’re not quite yourself. Drunk text me that you love me or that you miss me or that I’m on your mind. Let the alcohol tell me all the things you won’t say sober.

Something else is hurting you – that’s why you need pot or whiskey, or screaming music turned so fucking loud you can’t think.

— Charles Bukowski (via unextinguished)

Rihanna spotted at LAX airport (27.09.2014.) #2

I know that you miss me, and that you wish things would have gone differently, or that we would have had more time. But do you think you are the only one who has been taken for granted? Do you think that just because I am trying to move on means that I no longer love you? Because no amount of months filled with silence that are put in-between us will ever change the fact that I still love you and always will. We were both so selfish when we first met. We never seemed so be on the same page, let alone the same topic. I was always waiting for you to speak first while you were always waiting for me to touch you. I am sorry for this mess that we both made. This mess that is too heavy for either of our hands to clear. But everyday we are pushing through these heaps of cruel words and mislead assumptions, and everyday we are realizing that not even love could make enough noise to fill in the silence that we created for ourselves. I’m trying to think of new ways to apologize to you, to tell you that I do not think you are the only one to blame. But as I write out letters of regret I am always left with a blank ending, an empty pen, new reasons to why we should have waited. I spend most of my time looking for my courage in the things you left behind. I’m trying to find it because I want to use it for when you come back. I want to apply it so you can see that I am not all talk but over analyzed actions. I want you to think better of me like you did before you were in front of me. I want to be your muse again, your perfected poetry, your everything is still good thoughts. Maybe I will use this mess of bitter thoughts and passive aggressive confessions in your next letter. Maybe this will help you understand a little bit more to why it is that I’m still holding on. Maybe you’ll write back. Maybe you’ll come back. Maybe you’ll help me come to terms with our love suffering in the way that it did. And maybe, just maybe this will help you see that even though it feels like I’m moving on, I’m somehow still right beside you.

— "A letter full of contradicting sentiment," - Colleen Brown (via mostlyfiction)