Poetry is a naked woman, a naked man, and the distance between them.
― Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Poetry as Insurgent Art (via observando)
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Hoodie over my head, recognize a grand Sith
Old man on my feet, that’s Stan Smith
Art to these facts that’s my man’s shit
Greatness is mine to make I just have to craft it right
Physically busy day, mentally busy night
Cuz I figure I’d be okay living in hell
If this is how my bed would smell
Used to get Sally to buy my seashells
Could’ve sold water to a well
Tryna sell a dream to myself
Somebody help

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I want us to make each other better.
― (via kingsxoqueens)

(Source: braided-funk)

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Overbooked :(
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triste-luna:

Love is so toxic

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pouted:

my snapchat feed be like

image

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The stars don’t dictate my paths
They just offer insight

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