My Life as Liz.

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hisandherquotes:

everything you love is here
hisandherquotes:

everything you love is here

benjy9163 asked: Kik me at jamesmedina1or give me your kik

mine is liz_ferdinand :)

Anonymous asked: What Is your kik?

liz_ferdinand :)

exhalehood:

exhalehood:

when normal people take pictures of things

image

when ashton irwin takes pictures of things

image

image

(via hazeleyesvioletskies)

(Source: pleatedjeans, via popularboyfriend)

leaveyouapen:

I am. 
"Why would you want to be a victim when you could be a survivor?"I am. I am. I am.
I am more than a bruise.I am more than a victim.I am more than stains of blood.
I am. I am. I am.
I am a collapsing wind.I am a tender blizzard.I am a letter never sent.
I am. I am. I am.
I am this giant star inside trillions of tiny galaxies.I am this pair of wolf eyes glowing inside darkness.I am this stupid prayer asking to burn inside fields of innocence.
I am. I am. I am.
I am tired of wearing all these shades of blue.I am tired of wandering while wondering whether I’m doing this right.I am tired from dancing with these devils on my back.
I am. I am. I am.
I am fickle enough to love with urgency, but not immediately.I am slow and steady as the birth of a butterfly.I am a geyser filled with rose petals and doves.
I am. I am. I am.
I am this selfless wall of words;an art of openness thatyou can only learnfrom soft budding flowers.
I now have bouquets of forget me not flowersgrowing in the palms of my hands; if I touchmy eyes and wave these hands abovepoisoned soils littered with silent ink stainschoking from the soft stillness of coming hometo an empty apartment – I will plantremembrances to those whose rootsburn with sickly nectars of a fallen oak treevictimized by tragedies, upon tragedies, upon tragedies.
I am. I am. I am.
I am more than a cryptic tragedy.I do not leave the curtains closed anymoreto avoid gazes from creatures lookingthrough the window; I hear the voicesof glass soldiers chanting for freedom,and there have been days where I havestared, stopped and stared – frozenin a notion of memory, of pain, of momentsand moments, and moments, and more momentsof the silence that rape seems to put on his wearer’s.
The project of becoming better can sometimesseem like a hidden houseguest waitingto be fed and visited, or sometimes it’s likea not so hidden houseguest sprawledon my couch in unwashed boxer briefs,running up my cable bill with on demand pornwhile smoking all my pot, and reassuring methat it’s only for another few more days.
In the end, I am a garden of bamboo sticksthat bends when a storm comes, resumingup-right integrity and accommodating flexibility.I refuse to drink these poisoned soils.
I will find myself on a Sunday morningwith the stillness of a sunrise, a cupof green tea, a back yard tire swing,and I will write something simply for me;I will write the language of this skin,and I am a flurry of doves flying for freedom.
I am not a victim anymore, nor a survivor,but instead I am. I am. I am. 
- G. Lucas Kolthof
they tell you that you’re lucky but you’re so confused. you don’t feel pretty, you just feel used