tbh i'll probably delete it

okay well I feel kinda weird even doing this so I’m not gonna make one of those long posts about it, some of you who have been following me for a while have probably seen older stuff about the crap with my family and my dad in particular, but this post explains the latest developments. 

at an anon’s suggestion, I’ll share my paypal: pacurarut13@gmail.com. at this point I don’t even know where I’ll be by the end of the month, stuck at home or in the netherlands, with my dad expecting me to change everything about who I am to please him. wherever I’ll be, I’ll try to get a job asap and start saving up so I can get away from all of this, but naturally any bit of help would be appreciated. so if you’re feeling charitable and feel like helping out, you’ll have my eternal gratitude

  • Fiyero: How's your tea, darling?
  • Glinda: You made it perfect. Just the way I like it.
  • Glinda: Strong.
  • Glinda: Green.
  • Glinda: And very, very bitter.
  • Glinda *whispering*: Just like Elphie.
  • Fiyero: Excuse me?
  • Glinda: Nothing, nothing.

You gotta stop lying to us. We can tell you’re lying to us. Stop telling me, “Well… someone one day will think that crooked nose is just cute as a button,” I don’t want to hear that. I don’t want to hear the only thing that you can reassure me with is based on what I look like.

Stay beautiful. Stay beautiful. Staying beautiful is why I’ve got shaky hands and no metabolism. Staying beautiful is why I keep crying myself to sleep. Staying beautiful to me meant staying empty. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of people who’ve never seen me telling me, “Don’t worry, you’re somebody’s wet dream.” I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be beautiful. I don’t want to be pretty.

Stop telling girls they’ve just got to love themselves because “Everybody is beautiful.” You say the word “beautiful” and we think of magazines. Beauty exists in each person but it’s not because you’ll eventually stumble across someone who finds you attractive. Love your body because it’s flawed, love yourself for your heart. Beauty exists in you, I promise.

It’s because when you breathe in, sweetheart, you’re swallowing four million words you could have said but when you exhale, you choose the ones that are kindest. It’s because you’ve got sharp teeth and round hips and a good grasp on video games. You’re beautiful because they’ve knocked you to your knees and you keep wiping the blood out of the corners of your mouth and getting right back to your feet. You’re beautiful because they told you that you couldn’t succeed so you strapped yourself into the fastest car you could find and told them to fuck off, that you were running away to somewhere their venom couldn’t pierce through your fingertips - you’re beautiful because you’ve got stories stacked up your spinal column, not because some dude one day is going to say, “Huh, I’d fuck her.”

Stop preaching the same few words to us. Stop saying, “You’re beautiful,” because yes she is but she’s only going to hear, “I’m only saying this because I feel bad and I have nothing else to say.” Stop talking down to us. Instead start giving out compliments that mean something. Tell me I dress like I’m a queen. Tell her that you’re more than willing to punch somebody who asks, “But weren’t you born a boy,” tell her that you are willing to protect her. Tell her you’re happy she’s alive, not that you’re happy about how she looks.

Baby girl, look down to your hands, because these are the bones that will build and break nations - stay strong, stay wild, stay free, but don’t stay beautiful. Get ugly. Get hair in your mouth and sand in your eyes. Bite the people who hurt you, draw blood. Have sex in public restrooms, laugh about it, keep notches in your belt. Kiss the girl in your class with blue eyes you can’t stop staring at, get her lip gloss all over your collarbones. Skin your palms. Moan loudly. Stop getting quiet when obnoxious people interrupt you, talk over them, talk while staring them down, show them you don’t give a shit whether or not they like what you’re saying, you’re going to finish it. If somebody calls you a bitch, wink. Be ugly. Stop tearing your sandwiches apart under the table so you can eat like a fairy. Stop trying to be dainty. Cut your hair. Pierce everything you want, tattoo the rest, roll your eyes at your parents. Don’t hide your hurt, wear it, stop thinking you’re going to inconvenience everybody. Take back this world you gave up. Make it yours. Don’t go down without screaming.

You don’t need to be beautiful. You are not somebody’s art piece. Baby girl, look down to your hands.

What’s important is that you can do anything. You have so much potential and that’s what makes you important. You are so much more than your cheekbones or the width of your thighs.

What’s beautiful is that you can make anything happen. Stop being beautiful. Get ugly.

Go be alive.

—  Be alive, be glorious, be good at sex. Be so much more than just plain “beautiful.” /// r.i.d | inkskinned
2

“What makes you so special?”“Nothing. I’m just a kid from Brooklyn.”

I’m giving away my very last saved hp urls because I’ll never use them anywayss, so message me if you’re interested in one of those (I would prefer to give them to someone who will actually use them tho): 

  • viktorkrumn
  • sirijusblack
  • evansllily
  • freadweasley
5

Good show! You’d leap to stardom in any acrobatics troupe!

picture ashton keeping a journal, where he keeps his thoughts when he doesn’t feel like sharing them with anyone. he writes an entry one night, while he’s thinking about the stars and life and how small it all seems. “there’s no way to describe how lucky i am,” it says. “in this whole universe, across millions of miles and massive oceans, and out of seven billion people, i found someone to love. she completes me, and as cliche as that sounds, they’re the only words i can use. she makes me want to wear my glasses because she likes to push them up my nose. she makes me want to sit in tiny cafes and climb huge mountains and watch cooking shows on netflix but never cook anything for myself. she makes me want to do the little things, and the big things, and everything i can do to make her happy. she is the moon and all of the stars, and i am the sky that gets to hold her.” 

picture the entry being about you.