so story time:
today for the first time ever, some random person on the street made a negative comment about my appearance. on a day where my jeans were looser than normal, my eating was so good all last week,i worked out almost every day and felt proud of my body. not to mention i was wearing a…
you’re lookin so good in what’s left of those blue jeans
;) f da hatahs.
Little Sisters of the Poor ☐
Cops for Kids with Cancer ☐
Rachel’s Vineyard ☐
Think Humanity ☐
in this order.
Punta Cana ✓
Ireland (again), Scotland & Wales ☐
Skipping meals is not an option.
omg i was just about to im you saying i am so hungry.
fuck your social issues is that a homemade fucking oscar
I love this woman
It warms my heart to see sjws getting beaten. She is more african american than the majority of black people in america. african american describes people that are african and american. I don’t know how that became the politically correct term for black people when most of the time it is not correct.
this is too freaking much
#dying of laughter
it’s really weird and i don’t remember writing it but i like it. i have no idea where i was going with it though.
A World Apart
The first thing I ever remember is a black gun. I don’t know what type of gun it is but it has fallen to the ground beside me. I lay under the table and hide. Blood spills out everywhere and my parents are dead, killed by someone I never knew.
There is no reason for it. Initiation into a gang, it’s just a pathetic excuse. The police never find them. The most important things in life aren’t given they are stolen and so this was stolen from me. Not just my parents but my childhood. My life, or at least what it could have been. Should have been — in a different world.
Foster care is nothing.
It is people with pity in their faces and hands they want to make clean. It is people who must pay for speeding tickets somehow so they volunteer to put smiles on the orphans’ faces.
Sometimes they get curious and ask about my parents, if I had any.
We all have parents. We just don’t know.
I don’t know anything about them, who they were or what they were like. If they were alive I could pass them by on the street and never know. The volunteers are rebuked for asking such inane questions and they are told never come back here again.
Next week, they will be working to put smiles on the retarded peoples’ faces. The orphans are just one step ahead of the retards because they think the retards don’t have any feelings. I disagree. The retards are better. They have feelings and parents. I feel nothing. I have nothing. But a name, and everyone has one of those, even pet rocks or dogs or even the planets.
I’m a planet. I’m floating in outer space and screaming so loud that no one can hear me because ‘planets can’t scream.’
It wasn’t until I got older that the college life appealed to me. My counselor talked about it casually, never encouraging of course because that would be too much guidance. Guidance towards something unattainable by poor people like me.
Hope is a valuable commodity that I cannot afford, and she knows this. None of us can. Not any of the orphans, anyway. She just graduated with a degree in social work. Her masters, I think. Or whatever is higher than the first degree people get. She doesn’t feel bad that she can get these things and I cannot. She thinks she deserved it. But in the back of her mind she judges me. She thinks I don’t deserve it. She would never admit that, though. To admit that would be to admit that the system she supports discriminates against children without parents. I don’t want to go to college to get a degree I want to go to college because that’s what people my age do.
So I go to college.
In my own way I’m a rebel. I could go to school and study criminology and really, really understand the motives, why my parents are dead, gangs, things I have no interest in. Maybe my parents did though.
I don’t care about gangs. I don’t care about guns. I don’t care to set things right, seek my vengeance and retaliate. Have Hell rain down on them the way it did for me when I was two years old. No. None of that.
I go to school for general education. It’s a fancy way of saying I don’t know why I’m in school.
I ultimately decide to make a decision and my decision is business management. I will never manage a business. I will never manage anything other than my life and I will manage it well. I don’t mean well as in good I mean well as in okay.
But better than expected for people like me. I was supposed to be hung up on that gun. My brain even worked against me, encapsulating that single memory and replaying it any time the word “normal” was spoken out of any mouth ever from now until the end – the end of not just my life but maybe my eternity if there is one.