vomit stains

2

More than what it seems, yes it’s gross I still have a vomit stain on my bedroom floor. There is so much more to the story though. My daughter threw up here. My daughter struggled for peace here. My daughter wanted to die here. She took a bottle of pills here. She had just gotten out of the mental hospital. She had lost all hope here. This is where my daughter almost died, and the almost part is what I am so grateful for. I see that spot and know that it may be what saved her from death. I see the spot and remember how sad she had become. I see it and think about how happy she is now just months later. It is a sad memory with a good outcome (I never say ending, mental illness will do that to you). I think now to the day recently that we had lunch and she tells me how happy she is that she didn’t die. I love my daughter and am so happy she is still here with us. My advice to her following this attempt was, if it feels that bad, do whatever it is that will make you happy. What do you have to loose?

Not So Fast

Takes place in my Owen/Amelia/Ryan world.

Owen tiptoed down the hall to their bedroom as quietly as possible. Once he reached inside, he slowly closed the door behind him, careful not to make a noise. Turning around, he eyed Amelia, who was wringing her hands nervously.

“Is that it?” she asked in a low voice, an expression of pure anxiety on her face.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he confirmed, exhaling, “Everyone’s asleep.”

“And it’s only 10 o’clock?” she sought to confirm, glancing behind her at the digital clock on their bedside table, “This sounds too good to be true.”

“Well don’t ruin it then,” he laughed softly, ripping off his stain riddled shirt. Parenthood for him had reached a point where he couldn’t tell if there was a juice stain on his shirt or a vomit stain.

“I’m not trying to ruin it,” she replied, slipping out of her shorts, “It just sounds too good to be true, is all.”

“Well, do you wanna wake one of them up so you can bounce back to reality?” he accused, pulling his pants down and stepping out of them, “Or do you want to enjoy what little time we have on something more constructive?” He closed the small space between them, wrapping his arms around her lower back as he pulled her in for a rushed, sloppy kiss. Her hands made their way to either side of his cheeks as she took control of the kiss.

“I haven’t eaten since four,” she said as he pulled her old, baggy college shirt over her head.

“I can’t even remember the last time I’ve slept for more than two hours,” he countered, scooping her into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist for her. He walked them towards the bed and the two collapsed onto it, freezing in place when the bed squeaked. Two pairs of blue eyes stared at each other in fright.

“Do you think they heard us?” she whispered.

Owen stared blankly at her. “I really don’t care right now.”

“Well you should!” she complained as they slipped under the covers and he shimmied out of his boxers, “Because if one of them walks in here-“

“Amelia,” he said, cutting her off as he towered over her, “I don’t want to be or even talk about being someone’s father or husband right now.” She looked at him in utter confusion and amusement. “I just want to be your boyfriend right now.” He pecked her nose and flipped them over, letting her straddle him. “And I just want you to be my girlfriend right now, nothing else.”

She giggled and kissed him. “Okay.”

Here's to the Kids by Pete Wentz

“Here’s to the kids.

The kids who would rather spend their night with a bottle of coke & Patrick or Sonny playing on their headphones than go to some vomit-stained high school party.
Here’s to the kids whose 11:11 wish was wasted on one person who will never be there for them.
Here’s to the kids whose idea of a good night is sitting on the hood of a car, watching the stars.
Here’s to the kids who never were too good at life, but still were wicked cool.
Here’s to the kids who listened to Fall Out boy and Hawthorne Heights before they were on MTV…and blame MTV for ruining their life.
Here’s to the kids who care more about the music than the haircuts.
Here’s to the kids who have crushes on a stupid lush.
Here’s to the kids who hum "A Little Less 16 Candles, A Little More Touch Me” when they’re stuck home, dateless, on a Saturday night.
Here’s to the kids who have ever had a broken heart from someone who didn’t even know they existed.
Here’s to the kids who have read The Perks of Being a Wallflower & didn’t feel so alone after doing so.
Here’s to the kids who spend their days in photobooths with their best friend(s).
Here’s to the kids who are straight up smartasses & just don’t care.
Here’s to the kids who speak their mind.
Here’s to the kids who consider screamo their lullaby for going to sleep.
Here’s to the kids who second guess themselves on everything they do.
Here’s to the kids who will never have 100 percent confidence in anything they do, and to the kids who are okay with that.
Here’s to the kids.
This one’s not for the kids,
who always get what they want,
But for the ones who never had it at all.
It’s not for the ones who never got caught,
But for the ones who always try and fall.
This one’s for the kids who didnt make it,
We were the kids who never made it.
The Overcast girls and the Underdog Boys.
Not for the kids who had all their joys.
This one’s for the kids who never faked it.
We’re the kids who didn’t make it.
They say “Breaking hearts is what we do best,”
And, “We’ll make your heart be ripped of your chest”
The only heart that I broke was mine,
When I got My Hopes up too too high.
We were the kids who didnt make it.
We are the kids who never made it.“

-Pete Wentz

Heres to the kids

Here’s to the kids. The kids who would rather spend their night with a bottle of coke & Patrick or Sonny playing on their headphones than go to some vomit-stained high school party. Here’s to the kids whose 11:11 wish was wasted on one person who will never be there for them. Here’s to the kids whose idea of a good night is sitting on the hood of a car, watching the stars. Here’s to the kids who never were too good at life, but still were wicked cool. Here’s to the kids who listened to Fall Out boy and Hawthorne Heights before they were on MTV…and blame MTV for ruining their life. Here’s to the kids who care more about the music than the haircuts. Here’s to the kids who have crushes on a stupid lush. Here’s to the kids who hum “A Little Less 16 Candles, A Little More Touch Me” when they’re stuck home, dateless, on a Saturday night. Here’s to the kids who have ever had a broken heart from someone who didn’t even know they existed. Here’s to the kids who have read The Perks of Being a Wallflower & didn’t feel so alone after doing so. Here’s to the kids who spend their days in photobooths with their best friend(s). Here’s to the kids who are straight up smartasses & just don’t care. Here’s to the kids who speak their mind. Here’s to the kids who consider screamo their lullaby for going to sleep. Here’s to the kids who second guess themselves on everything they do. Here’s to the kids who will never have 100 percent confidence in anything they do, and to the kids who are okay with that. Here’s to the kids. This one’s not for the kids, who always get what they want, But for the ones who never had it at all. It’s not for the ones who never got caught, But for the ones who always try and fall. This one’s for the kids who didnt make it, We were the kids who never made it. The Overcast girls and the Underdog Boys. Not for the kids who had all their joys. This one’s for the kids who never faked it. We’re the kids who didn’t make it. They say “Breaking hearts is what we do best,” And, “We’ll make your heart be ripped of your chest” The only heart that I broke was mine, When I got My Hopes up too too high. We were the kids who didnt make it. We are the kids who never made it.”
—  Pete Wentz

"What am I thinking?"

Rick groaned, slowly lifting himself down into his bed, sheets and blankets everywhere, beer and vomit stains here and there. It smells disgusting. Rick grunted, his back sore from the recent adventure he had gone to with Morty. He looked up at the ceiling, his eyes half lidded, as his mind slowly wonders onto the thought of Morty, at how he looked as he laughed, laughing at how Rick did something stupid, as he hardly did anything stupid before. A smile crept upon Ricks face, chuckling softly. He slowly stopped ‘that’s the third time I’ve thought about that’ he thought, sitting up, he put his elbows on his knees, his head in the palm of his hands, as he stared at the floor. His eyes wide, drool coming down from his lip. Rick didn’t know what was going on, but he knew every time he thought of Morty, his heart raced, and he was happy. Oh no. Rick inhaled and exhaled, did he have feelings for the kid? He knew he did, he felt this way before. But why? Why with Morty? His Grandson. Rick shook his head “no no no no..” He thought out loud, standing up, he quickly walked to his door, opening it harshly. He looked down at Morty, who was just about to knock on the door “M-Morty?! W-w-what are you do-eeeuggh-ing here?” His eyes were a bit wide, surprised to see him “o-oh, hey r-rick. I just c-c-came to tell you that suppers ready” Morty stuttered, feeling confused as to why Rick looked so surprised. Rick sighed and rubbed his forehead “Morty, I’m sorry but I don’t h-h-have time for supper, I have some th-Uuurup-things to do” Rick burped, as he moved Morty out of the way before quickly dashing to the garage “ah! W-well okay..” Morty said sadly, not sure what’s up.

Rick sat at his desk, he had his head in his hands, as he mumbled nonsense words. He couldn’t get his mind off of Morty, he felt his heart pound, which was bad for his health, but he couldn’t stop it. He tried to calm himself down, as he began building whatever, anything to keep his mind off the child. After almost a whole two hours, drinking beer in between minutes, he finished making a machine that turned anything plastic into gold (I had nothing else in mind, deal with it) Rick looked at the finished project, as he glared slightly at it. He stood back and took a few swigs of beer, a knock on the door as he looked over “who is- Uurrrp- it?” He looked away, putting the useless machine away “u-uh, it’s me g-grandpa Rick” Morty opened the door, looking at his grandpa who was now sitting down, ignoring him. Morty felt his throat tighten as he swallowed his saliva, ready to speak “w-w-what were you work-working on Rick? You seemed p-pretty busy” Morty asked, looking at Rick who just sat at his desk “just a useless m-machine, Morty” Rick responded “O-oh..okay then..” Morty scratched his arm, not sure what’s gotten into Rick. Rick just chugged the rest of the beer before tossing the empty bottle with the rest of the empty bottles around him “say Morty..” “Y-yes Rick?” Mortys eyes lit up, looking at Rick who was still not facing him “erm..nothing, n-never-uuurp-mind” Rick stood up, looking to face Morty who was looking up at Rick “oh..w-well alright” Morty looked confused. Ricks eyes were half lidded, as he still had the drool on his lip, he was a bit wobbly. Morty gulped, blinking “R-rick?” He questioned, as Rick walked over to Morty, a bit wobbly.
Rick stopped in front of Morty, looking down at the boy as he stared down at him. He slowly opened his mouth, before closing it. Morty looked up at Rick, his knees weak. Rick slowly moved closer to Mortys face, stopping as he realized what he was doing. He quickly put his hand on Mortys head, smiling as he ruffled the brunette hair “you did good today Morty, k-keep-uuuurp- it up” Rick smiled as he quickly but swiftly turned and walked to his desk. Morty blinked and shook his head “j-jee, thanks grandpa r-rick” Morty smiled, walking over to his grandfathers desk.

A few days later Rick had Morty help him in the garage with an experiment, it was 2 am, Rick grunted loudly as he flinched, waking up from a nightmare. He quickly realized he was still in the garage, drool on his chin, he looked over to see Morty asleep on the table. Rick sighed in relief, glad to see his grandson still by his side. Rick looked at the time “shit, it’s pretty l-la-Uurrrp! Late” he spoke aloud as he stood up, walking over to the table, picking up Mort in his arms. Rick shut the garage lights off before quietly walking upstairs to Mortys room. Rick looked down at the sleeping child in his arms, placing him in his bed as he covered him in his covers. Rick stood there, watching Morty sleep soundly, a look of some sort on his face. He wiped the drool off his chin before slowly leaning in and kissing Mortys forehead, caressing his soft cheek.
Rick quietly shut his door, his back leaned on the door, feeling his heart beat fast, as he made a face of disgust 'this is wrong..what am I thinking?’ He thought, sadly walking to his room where he went to bed, thinking of Morty.

“Here’s to the kids.

The kids who would rather spend their night with a bottle of coke & Patrick or Sonny playing on their headphones than go to some vomit-stained high school party.
Here’s to the kids whose 11:11 wish was wasted on one person who will never be there for them.
Here’s to the kids whose idea of a good night is sitting on the hood of a car, watching the stars.
Here’s to the kids who never were too good at life, but still were wicked cool.
Here’s to the kids who listened to Fall Out boy and Hawthorne Heights before they were on MTV…and blame MTV for ruining their life.
Here’s to the kids who care more about the music than the haircuts.
Here’s to the kids who have crushes on a stupid lush.
Here’s to the kids who hum “A Little Less 16 Candles, A Little More Touch Me” when they’re stuck home, dateless, on a Saturday night.
Here’s to the kids who have ever had a broken heart from someone who didn’t even know they existed.
Here’s to the kids who have read The Perks of Being a Wallflower & didn’t feel so alone after doing so.
Here’s to the kids who spend their days in photobooths with their best friend(s).
Here’s to the kids who are straight up smartasses & just don’t care.
Here’s to the kids who speak their mind.
Here’s to the kids who consider screamo their lullaby for going to sleep.
Here’s to the kids who second guess themselves on everything they do.
Here’s to the kids who will never have 100 percent confidence in anything they do, and to the kids who are okay with that.
Here’s to the kids.
This one’s not for the kids,
who always get what they want,
But for the ones who never had it at all.
It’s not for the ones who never got caught,
But for the ones who always try and fall.
This one’s for the kids who didnt make it,
We were the kids who never made it.
The Overcast girls and the Underdog Boys.
Not for the kids who had all their joys.
This one’s for the kids who never faked it.
We’re the kids who didn’t make it.
They say “Breaking hearts is what we do best,”
And, “We’ll make your heart be ripped of your chest”
The only heart that I broke was mine,
When I got My Hopes up too too high.
We were the kids who didnt make it.
We are the kids who never made it.”

—  Pete Wentz

My best friend vomiting
and her lipstick on my dress. I am a mess.
This is the best first night of my life,
so I hold our phones in my pocket.

She is a knife. I am a flight
of stairs made for falling down.

This is where the poets lived.
This is where I left my fist
in a wall. This is how it feels to be tall
when all your friends aren’t.
Leak emptiness onto me.

My best friend vomiting
and a pillowcase stained with blood.
I cannot remember the last time I said the word “love”
and meant it.

This is a city that meant it.
I am a paper clip bending
into your shape. I am a face
in an airplane window. Always running late,
but never running.
I am gunning
the engine on the highway.
I am the one that got away.

And maybe, yes, I am impossible to love.
Is it so hard to tell me
you’re sorry? Yes,
I am sorry.

This is the last line of defense.
This is a winter wind,
a wonderland.
This is me fearing for my friends
and forgiving.

My best friend vomiting, and me,
making three drunk phone calls
that I know you won’t answer.
You’re still a cancer
in remission. I clean vomit
from the kitchen.
Scratch the floors up with my heels.

Now less popular than ever,
wetter,
worse weather,
you are the worst rainstorm
I have ever encountered.

—  New Years Eve; Hannah Beth Ragland
To Be Continued

Harry Styles, AU, Mature

(a/n: author!Harry, pining friend request. it’s almost pitiful. warning for sexual content.)

—————————–

Dashing through the puddles on the sidewalk as the rain pelted her from every direction, Susie scurried to the gate, typing in the code and rushing through the iron bars. She wasn’t in proper attire to really be running anywhere, but she almost welcomed the clean water rinsing the stain of vomit from the bottom of her khakis. Trying to hold her bag over her head to keep her glasses somewhat dry, she bound for the short set of stairs and released a rushed breath when she finally stood beneath the overhang.

She could hear the familiar scuff of boots on the newly renovated hardwood floors.

Knocking lightly, she waited a moment before it opened to reveal a very dapperly dressed Harry Styles. The look on his face was one she was very familiar with as well: disappointed judgment and frustration. “Why didn’t you just call?” he sighed. He lifted the collar of his black pea coat and lifted the large black suitcase from the floor.

Pulling her glasses from her face and placing them atop her head, Susie rolled her eyes and wiped the mascara now running beneath them. “I didn’t really have time to call you. And my phone died. I don’t need you to pick me up. I rode the bus. Like I always do.”

“Next time, call me,” he responded, tight lipped.

She’d lost count of how many times he’d said that phrase to her. Nodding and stepping aside, Harry walked past her and set the expensive luggage down on the dampened porch.

“Where are you going this time? Looking a bit like Edgar Allan Poe,” she asked, shaking the chill off from the rain.

Pulling his eyes from the hypnotizing drops of the rain, he said, “I think Spain? I don’t know. The book was just released there. I just go where they tell me.”

She smiled at his unintentional downplay of the importance of his life. “I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time wherever they take you.”

Harry smiled and ran a hand through his hair, too long to tame any longer. While his mother continually mentioned the cutting of it, Susie admired the soft curls that fell over his shoulders. “Alright. Same as always. Thank you, again. I always appreciate you. I made sure there were the red Popsicles you like in the freezer. Save me one, yeah?”

“Alright, Harry,” she smiled tightly. “Be safe.”

Harry grabbed his bag and jogged quickly down the stairs to the rain covered Range Rover in the drive way. Throwing his bag into the backseat, he slammed the door closed and ran back up the stairs. Grabbing Susie and pulling her to his body, he hugged her tightly. “I’ll see you,” he whispered in her ear. Harry released her and ran back to his car. Surprised by the full body hug, she watched him climb into his car without a look spared.

Harry had been acting weird the past few weeks, much weirder than normal. Not that Harry was weird, per se. But many of his words and actions didn’t seem like they were coming from the man she’d known for the past few years. More subdued than she’d ever seen him, he seemed shy and nervous around her and that was unsettling.

Watching as the gate closed behind him, Susie wiped under her eyes and hoped she didn’t get the new floors of Harry’s house too wet.

—————————–
Susie met Harry three years before when he’d moved in just across the hall from her. It was a dumpy little place, held together with tape and glue and half-assed attempts at securing the building with haphazardly hammered nails. It wasn’t great, but it was a place to live.

Harry had knocked on her door late into the evening on that first night. Unable to find it within herself to ignore the knocking, she got up from the couch and opened the door. Haggard looking, a little like death warmed over, Harry’s eyes pled his case before he even opened his mouth.

Explaining that he was Harry and had just moved in across the hall, he mentioned with an awkward rub to the back of his neck that he was hungry. Opening her door to the stranger, she invited him in wordlessly and made him a can of soup.

From that moment on, Harry clung to her side. He never left the building much, unless he was with Susie. She found it comforting to always have someone to rely on. To always have someone to spend a bit of time with. She learned he wrote short stories for a popular website but would never share them with her until they were published online. She also learned that it was his goal to become a real life published author.

Harry was kind and polite. He was attentive and interested. He was interesting. He was very handsome and fit and so much everything she’d ever want in a partner. They got along better than she’d ever gotten along with anyone in her entire life.

Susie was a lonely soul. Not to say that she was sad to be alone; quite the contrary. Susie liked to be alone. And Harry? Harry respected that. He respected her silence and the time they spent together yet separate. It was welcomed after a life filled with “you should get out more” and “it’s not good to always be alone” spoken to her from everyone she’d ever known.

But she had a gross realization one afternoon. Harry sat in the worn chaise lounge near the window, writing in a leather bound journal he often had with him. And as she looked up from the book she was reading, she could hear the thumping of her heart clearly. It was different and almost terrifying as she let her eyes roam over his reposed figure. Trying to look away and focus back on the letters before her seemed an impossible task.

The silence suddenly seemed overwhelming. The light of the sun filtering into the flat was too bright and it became too much. Slamming her book closed, she threw the knitted blanket from her body and avoided Harry’s gaze she now knew settled on her.

“Everything alright?” he asked, his pen poised carefully over the dull white pages.

Nodding silently, Susie put her head in her hands and thought about how much she loved Harry Styles.

—————————–

Keep reading

Here’s to the kids.
The kids who would rather spend their night with a bottle of coke & Patrick or Sonny playing on their headphones than go to some vomit-stained high school party.
Here’s to the kids whose 11:11 wish was wasted on one person who will never be there for them.
Here’s to the kids whose idea of a good night is sitting on the hood of a car, watching the stars.
Here’s to the kids who never were too good at life, but still were wicked cool.
Here’s to the kids who listened to Fall Out Boy and Hawthorne Heights before they were on MTV…and blame MTV for ruining their life.
Here’s to the kids who care more about the music than the haircuts.
Here’s to the kids who have crushes on a stupid lush.
Here’s to the kids who hum “A Little Less 16 Candles, A Little More Touch Me” when they’re stuck home, dateless, on a Saturday night.
Here’s to the kids who have ever had a broken heart from someone who didn’t even know they existed.
Here’s to the kids who have read The Perks of Being a Wallflower & didn’t feel so alone after doing so.
Here’s to the kids who spend their days in photobooths with their best friend(s).
Here’s to the kids who are straight up smartasses & just don’t care.
Here’s to the kids who speak their mind.
Here’s to the kids who consider screamo their lullaby for going to sleep.
Here’s to the kids who second guess themselves on everything they do.
Here’s to the kids who will never have 100 percent confidence in anything they do, and to the kids who are okay with that.
Here’s to the kids.
This one’s not for the kids,
who always get what they want,
But for the ones who never had it at all.
It’s not for the ones who never got caught,
But for the ones who always try and fall.
This one’s for the kids who didnt make it,
We were the kids who never made it.
The Overcast girls and the Underdog Boys.
Not for the kids who had all their joys.
This one’s for the kids who never faked it.
We’re the kids who didn’t make it.
They say “Breaking hearts is what we do best,”
And, “We’ll make your heart be ripped of your chest”
The only heart that I broke was mine,
When I got My Hopes up too too high.
We were the kids who didnt make it.
We are the kids who never made it.
—  Pete Wentz

As a cashier, I absolutely cannot stand when customers give me the sticky quarter. If you’ve ever worked with money, you KNOW what I mean by the sticky quarter. DO NOT GIVE ME THE STICKY QUARTER. That quarter was in your hand when your mother birthed you from her womb. You had that quarter in your pants through paste-eating grade school, junior high frog dissections, spring breaks spent in kiddie pools of spiked punch and pudding slip and slides. You had that quarter the first time you ever made sweet, awkward, elbowy love, and then your own sticky offspring puked on it three years down the line. You have had this quarter so long it’s formed SENTIENCE. And then after you dig through the very bottom of your pocket for that last eight cents you need to pay for your gods damned jellybeans, you hand me this disgusting, discolored, froggy, Schnapp’s-scented, cum-stained, vomit-covered quarter and I then I have to touch it EVERY. TIME. I NEED A QUARTER.

DONT BE THAT GUY. GIVE YOUR CASHIER CLEAN COINS.

here’s to the kids. the kids who would rather spend their night with a bottle of coke and Patrick or Sonny playing on their headphones than go to some vomit-stained high school party. here’s to the kids whose 11:11 wish was wasted on one person who will never be there for them. here’s to the kids whose idea of a good night is sitting on the hood of a car, watching the stars. here’s to the kids who were never too good at life, but still were wicked cool. here’s to the kids who listened to Fall Out Boy and Hawthorne Heights before they were on MTV and blame MTV for ruining their life. here’s to the kids who care more about the music than the haircuts. here’s to the kids who have crushes on a stupid lush. here’s to the kids who hum “a little less 16 candles, a little more touch me” when they’re stuck home, dateless, on a Saturday night. here’s to the kids who have ever had a broken heart from someone who didn’t even know they existed. here’s to the kids who have read The Perks of Being a Wallflower and didn’t feel so alone after doing so. here’s to the kids who spend their days in photobooths with their best friends. here’s to the kids who are straight up smartasses and just don’t care. here’s to the kids who speak their mind. here’s to the kids who consider screamo their lullaby for going to sleep. here’s to the kids who second guess themselves on everything they do. here’s to the kids who will never have 100 percent confidence in anything they do, and to the kids that are okay with that. here’s to the kids. this one’s not for the kids who always get what they want, but for the ones who never had it at all. it’s not for the ones who never get caught, but for the ones who always try and fail. this one’s for the kids who didn’t make it, we were the kids who never made it. the overcast girls and the underdog boys. not for the kids who had all their joys. this one’s for the kids who never faked it. we’re the kids who didn’t make it. they say “breaking hearts is what we do best,” and “we’ll make your heart be ripped out of your chest.” the only heart that i broke was mine, when i got my hopes up too high. we were the kids who didn’t make it. we are the kids
who never made it. 
—  Pete.

“Here’s to the kids.

The kids who would rather spend their night with a bottle of coke & Patrick or Sonny playing on their headphones than go to some vomit-stained high school party.
Here’s to the kids whose 11:11 wish was wasted on one person who will never be there for them.
Here’s to the kids whose idea of a good night is sitting on the hood of a car, watching the stars.
Here’s to the kids who never were too good at life, but still were wicked cool.
Here’s to the kids who listened to Fall Out boy and Hawthorne Heights before they were on MTV…and blame MTV for ruining their life.
Here’s to the kids who care more about the music than the haircuts.
Here’s to the kids who have crushes on a stupid lush.
Here’s to the kids who hum “A Little Less 16 Candles, A Little More Touch Me” when they’re stuck home, dateless, on a Saturday night.
Here’s to the kids who have ever had a broken heart from someone who didn’t even know they existed.
Here’s to the kids who have read The Perks of Being a Wallflower & didn’t feel so alone after doing so.
Here’s to the kids who spend their days in photobooths with their best friend(s).
Here’s to the kids who are straight up smartasses & just don’t care.
Here’s to the kids who speak their mind.
Here’s to the kids who consider screamo their lullaby for going to sleep.
Here’s to the kids who second guess themselves on everything they do.
Here’s to the kids who will never have 100 percent confidence in anything they do, and to the kids who are okay with that.
Here’s to the kids.
This one’s not for the kids,
who always get what they want,
But for the ones who never had it at all.
It’s not for the ones who never got caught,
But for the ones who always try and fall.
This one’s for the kids who didnt make it,
We were the kids who never made it.
The Overcast girls and the Underdog Boys.
Not for the kids who had all their joys.
This one’s for the kids who never faked it.
We’re the kids who didn’t make it.
They say “Breaking hearts is what we do best,”
And, “We’ll make your heart be ripped of your chest”
The only heart that I broke was mine,
When I got My Hopes up too too high.
We were the kids who didnt make it.
We are the kids who never made it.”

—  Pete wentz
( I found this quote before i knew who he was and i feel in love with it. i knew whoever this person was, he got it and now that i know who he is I am sure that he gets it)

Here’s to the kids.

The kids who would rather spend their night with a bottle of coke & Patrick or Sonny playing on their headphones than go to some vomit-stained high school party.
Here’s to the kids whose 11:11 wish was wasted on one person who will never be there for them.
Here’s to the kids whose idea of a good night is sitting on the hood of a car, watching the stars.
Here’s to the kids who never were too good at life, but still were wicked cool.
Here’s to the kids who listened to Fall Out boy and Hawthorne Heights before they were on MTV…and blame MTV for ruining their life.
Here’s to the kids who care more about the music than the haircuts.
Here’s to the kids who have crushes on a stupid lush.
Here’s to the kids who hum “A Little Less 16 Candles, A Little More Touch Me” when they’re stuck home, dateless, on a Saturday night.
Here’s to the kids who have ever had a broken heart from someone who didn’t even know they existed.
Here’s to the kids who have read The Perks of Being a Wallflower & didn’t feel so alone after doing so.
Here’s to the kids who spend their days in photobooths with their best friend(s).
Here’s to the kids who are straight up smartasses & just don’t care.
Here’s to the kids who speak their mind.
Here’s to the kids who consider screamo their lullaby for going to sleep.
Here’s to the kids who second guess themselves on everything they do.
Here’s to the kids who will never have 100 percent confidence in anything they do, and to the kids who are okay with that.
Here’s to the kids.
This one’s not for the kids,
who always get what they want,
But for the ones who never had it at all.
It’s not for the ones who never got caught,
But for the ones who always try and fall.
This one’s for the kids who didnt make it,
We were the kids who never made it.
The Overcast girls and the Underdog Boys.
Not for the kids who had all their joys.
This one’s for the kids who never faked it.
We’re the kids who didn’t make it.
They say “Breaking hearts is what we do best,”
And, “We’ll make your heart be ripped of your chest”
The only heart that I broke was mine,
When I got My Hopes up too too high.
We were the kids who didnt make it.
We are the kids who never made it.
~ Pete Wentz💕

Here’s to the kids…
The kids who would rather spend their night with a bottle of coke & Patrick or Sonny playing on their headphones than go to some vomit-stained high school party.
Here’s to the kids whose 11:11 wish was wasted on one person who will never be there for them.
Here’s to the kids whose idea of a good night is sitting on the hood of a car, watching the stars.
Here’s to the kids who never were too good at life, but still were wicked cool.
Here’s to the kids who listened to Fall Out boy and Hawthorne Heights before they were on MTV…and blame MTV for ruining their life.
Here’s to the kids who care more about the music than the haircuts.
Here’s to the kids who have crushes on a stupid lush.
Here’s to the kids who hum “A Little Less 16 Candles, A Little More Touch Me” when they’re stuck home, dateless, on a Saturday night.
Here’s to the kids who have ever had a broken heart from someone who didn’t even know they existed.
Here’s to the kids who have read The Perks of Being a Wallflower & didn’t feel so alone after doing so.
Here’s to the kids who spend their days in photobooths with their best friend(s).
Here’s to the kids who are straight up smartasses & just don’t care.
Here’s to the kids who speak their mind.
Here’s to the kids who consider screamo their lullaby for going to sleep.
Here’s to the kids who second guess themselves on everything they do.
Here’s to the kids who will never have 100 percent confidence in anything they do, and to the kids who are okay with that.
Here’s to the kids.
This one’s not for the kids,
who always get what they want,
But for the ones who never had it at all.
It’s not for the ones who never got caught,
But for the ones who always try and fall.
This one’s for the kids who didnt make it,
We were the kids who never made it.
The Overcast girls and the Underdog Boys.
Not for the kids who had all their joys.
This one’s for the kids who never faked it.
We’re the kids who didn’t make it.
They say “Breaking hearts is what we do best,”
And, “We’ll make your heart be ripped of your chest”
The only heart that I broke was mine,
When I got My Hopes up too too high.
We were the kids who didnt make it.
We are the kids who never made it.

It’s horrible having to play babysitter to your 20-something year old friends that like to drink excessively. When you wake me up at 2:30 in the morning to come retrieve your immobile puking asses from a sketchy house downtown, I want to cut your leg off and beat you with it. But always know this, I’d take vomit stained floor mats and bags under my tired eyes than to even imagine the alternative. If your ride fell through, or you forgot to plan one - I’m here for you because I want you safe. Never get behind the wheel. Never feel like you have to stay somewhere you aren’t comfortable being. Never feel like you are burdening me. Because even through my annoyed glare, I love you.