never too early to start reblogging this

^^^ well, Halloween candy was on shelves like 7/31 so this is right on time.

The middle right girl in the Asian one looks ready to throw hands I’m in love

Please don’t wear sacred Native dress too

Yikes!

Although i have no right to speak, I feel as though we can change the idea behind these to be respectful.

First off if you’re white never and i mean NEVER paint your face to be another race. Seriously I’m white as fuck and that should be obvious. Also those up there are STEREOTYPES! Not the actual culturally correct garments. Personally I think Geisha’s are fascinating and an amazing part of Japanese culture, especially after seeing Memoirs of a Geisha. That bitch up there is no Geisha! India also has so much beauty. And leave the fucking native Americans alone, you know what we fucking did to them.

Characters in first-person games never blink.

they blink when you blink stupid

so they never blink

Hey Mom,

Do you like me?

Or do my brown eyes simply remind you too much of him?

Can you stomach the colour when you see them looking back at you?

Or do you question why I had to be made in his likeness?

Each duplicate cell an affront to what you had to endure

Was it for your children that you chose to martyr yourself?

Or because you didn’t know any other way?

Does the sharpness of my tongue make you regret falling for him?

But then I also wonder was it love?

Or simply a complimentary match for your pain?

Of that we’re all truly complicit

Did you pray for me as I grew in your belly?

To find love that wouldn’t turn to sorrow?

Or did that come later?

Did you ever consider saving yourself from the fire?

Or did the flames lick your wounds just enough to feel like home?

When you picture me in your mind

Do you see me as an inconvenience?

Or perhaps as a lost cause that has drifted too far to matter?

Do you wish I had more to give you?

Or do you wish I didn’t remind you so much of bad choices and time wasted?

.

Mother if I could go back

I’d pray for you to receive

Better than you got

I’d wrap you in sweetness

And hope that my eyes could be

As crystal blue as yours

So you could look at me

And see yourself

A daughter

Your daughter

Instead of betrayal

You could see oceans in me

And the faults of the past wouldn’t matter

Because I could be everything you ever wished I’d be

Soft and loving

Kind and compassionate

If only I didn’t remind you so much of him

.

When you held me in your hands that first time

Did you love me?

And did you know that someday

It would all become so much more complicated than that?

Alejandra Pizarnik, from Extracting the Stones of Madness: Poems 1962-72

— Rachana Hegde, from “disposable,” published in Noble / Gas Qtrly (via ihoardwords)

GOOD LUCK POST

Days until 4/20/69: 69,420

— Roy H. Williams

The stages of recovery

Stage 1: 

I walk down the street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I fall in. I am lost. I am helpless. It isn’t my fault. It takes forever to find a way out.  Stage 2:  I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I pretend I don’t see it. I fall in again. I can’t believe I am in this same place. But it isn’t my fault. It still takes a long time to get out.     Stage 3:  I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I see it is there. I fall in…it’s a habit…but my eyes are open. I know where I am. It is my fault. I get out immediately.  Stage 4:  I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I walk around it.  Stage 5:  I walk down a different street. 

— Robert Frost, from ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’

— Anne Sexton, from Live or Die; A Little Uncomplicated Hymn. (via xshayarsha)