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charlesoberonn:

tardis-mind-palace:

theselener:

friend is mean?

friend makes you feel bad?

friend doesnt act like a friend?

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i’m confused do I kill him or what

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(Source: lmpossibleprincess, via tyleroakley)

theecolourblack:

when you are going to turn 11 in 2 hours and you’re ready to be a grown woman 

josh1112:

My concerns as a Seventh grader were clearly valid.

People are fond of saying,
That i’m a “girly girl”
And somehow that means that I’m shallow,
And unintelligent.
Guys like to laugh,
When I tell them I get up an hour early every morning to straighten my hair,
Or when I tell them how I stayed up till three am waiting for my nails to dry.
Even other girls roll their eyes when I keep asking them for outfit suggestions.
They don’t understand the pressure I put on myself everyday.
Every
single
motherfucking
day.
People get annoyed when I won’t stop counting down the minutes until lunch,
Or when I can’t decide what I want.
“I’m just really hungry,” I tell them, “I did’t have breakfast this morning.”
“Yea me neither,” They say, “I was in a rush too.”
Yea, I was in a rush.
Even though that morning my dad did a drive through at Tim’s,
And asked me if I wanted anything.
When I grumble about how fat I FEEL,
People roll their eyes, “You’re not fat Abby.”
“Stop looking for attention.”
I SAID FEEL YOU DUMBASS.
I KNOW I’M NOT FAT,
I JUST FEEL FAT.
and that’s the worst feeling ever.

Just last month,
I remember the alarmed look on my mother’s face when she picked me up from lifeguard training,
And as soon as I got into the car I broke down into tears.
“What happened?!”
I could barely choke the words out,
“My instructor made me go underwater,”
I said,
“Look at my hair Mom,”
“LOOK AT IT.”
“It’s fine, it’s just curly, you can straighten it again.” She said.
But that’s the thing,
It wasn’t fine.
I was right back in seventh grade again,
Awkward,
Despised,
Disgusting.
It’s been a year now,
Since I officially decided to change,
And yes I look so different,
But every time I look in the mirror I keep seeing my old flaws,
Trying to seep through.
I wake up in cold sweats,
When I can’t figure out what to wear the next day.

So you know what,
Call me fucking shallow,
Call me fucking fake,
But in the end it comes down to the fact,
That every time I step out of the shower,
Hair dripping,
Face free of makeup,
My hands won’t stop shaking
Until I’m back to my normal self.
And if that normal self resembles a Barbie,
Underfed,
Plastic,
and shiny bright.
I don’t give a fuck.
Because ultimately,
I can’t live with the sight of my “natural self”

I’m still sprinting,
I think I’ll be sprinting forever,
Running for my life.
Always looking over my shoulder
For the old me,
The middle school,
Pre-adolscent me,
To catch up,
And shatter all I’ve worked for.

And by worked I mean,
Getting up every morning an hour early to straighten my hair.

versacekardashian:

"Do you remember in 6th grade when y-"

youmeandmaddy:

i refuse to start school without this 📝📚
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