Just another teenager living on tumblr.

19. SINGLE. AUSTRALIA.

rainbowcranes:

Growing up, my dad had a rule. “You can’t get a tattoo. If you do, I will make you get it removed. Unless, that is, you join the army and can shoot a seagull in the eye from a mile away, or you have a near-death experience.”
On July 12, 2011, I rode my bicycle to the camp I worked at. On my way home, I rode down a hill, and stopped at the bottom. I looked both ways, and there was no car coming. I started to turn left when I got hit by a car going ~55 miles per hour. I completely shattered the windshield, and when the driver stopped, I was ejected back onto the road. The doctors in the emergency room were absolutely perplexed when I arrived, because they all agreed that I should have died, and they were amazed to release me 4 and a half hours later with only 16 stitches, a concussion, and a chipped tooth. During my recovery, I was angry and confused. A couple if days after my accident, I received cards from my eight year old campers. One of them drew a giant paper crane, and said, “if you fold a thousand paper cranes, you’ll get better”. 
Not being able to read, ride a bicycle, or put stress on my body, I cut up an old sudoku puzzle, went on YouTube, and learned how to make a paper crane. By the end of the day, I had a laundry basket full of black and white paper cranes. I kept making paper cranes, even after I made a thousand, and I ran into a dilemma. What do you do with paper cranes once you’ve made them? A girl in my class had committed suicide the same day I had my accident, and I brought a purple crane to her wake. Her family could not have been happier the moment I presented them with this crane. Something clicked in my head right there. I started giving them to people and hiding them in random places for people to find. I started making art with them, and they became a major part of who I was. 
This tattoo is symbolic of my accident, and could not represent me any better.

rainbowcranes:

Growing up, my dad had a rule. “You can’t get a tattoo. If you do, I will make you get it removed. Unless, that is, you join the army and can shoot a seagull in the eye from a mile away, or you have a near-death experience.”

On July 12, 2011, I rode my bicycle to the camp I worked at. On my way home, I rode down a hill, and stopped at the bottom. I looked both ways, and there was no car coming. I started to turn left when I got hit by a car going ~55 miles per hour. I completely shattered the windshield, and when the driver stopped, I was ejected back onto the road. The doctors in the emergency room were absolutely perplexed when I arrived, because they all agreed that I should have died, and they were amazed to release me 4 and a half hours later with only 16 stitches, a concussion, and a chipped tooth. During my recovery, I was angry and confused. A couple if days after my accident, I received cards from my eight year old campers. One of them drew a giant paper crane, and said, “if you fold a thousand paper cranes, you’ll get better”. 

Not being able to read, ride a bicycle, or put stress on my body, I cut up an old sudoku puzzle, went on YouTube, and learned how to make a paper crane. By the end of the day, I had a laundry basket full of black and white paper cranes. 
I kept making paper cranes, even after I made a thousand, and I ran into a dilemma. What do you do with paper cranes once you’ve made them? A girl in my class had committed suicide the same day I had my accident, and I brought a purple crane to her wake. Her family could not have been happier the moment I presented them with this crane. Something clicked in my head right there. I started giving them to people and hiding them in random places for people to find. I started making art with them, and they became a major part of who I was. 

This tattoo is symbolic of my accident, and could not represent me any better.

(via i-dont-feel-empty-anymore)

I cannot fucking go on without expressing this terrible so fucking awful physical aching fucking longing I have for you. And I cannot believe that I can feel this for you and you feel nothing.

(Do you feel nothing?)

—   Sarah Kane, from Psychosis  (via childoflust)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via i-dont-feel-empty-anymore)

“I don’t give a shit about grand gestures or flowers at my door, I just want your teeth across my neck and my lips pressed to the small of your back, I want your stupid fucking sense of humour making me laugh at 4am when I have to be up at 6.”

—   (via ruby-moon)

(Source: stayygone, via i-dont-feel-empty-anymore)

You weren’t the first page of
My book, But since coming
Into it, I’d be damned if you
Weren’t on every page, In
Every sentence, Until the very
Last word.

—   Gabriel Kawczynski  (via cityandcolourblind)

(Source: thewordsyouhear, via i-dont-feel-empty-anymore)

“One day I am going to write you a poem and your heart will break. Because then you will know it was all about you.”

coruscantcannibal:

gdmcrlover:

beatboxgoesthump:


THEN RAISE THE FUCK OUT OF OUR KIDS!
AND GIVE YOU ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING LOVE AND SUPPORT YOU’D EVER FUCKING NEED.
AND PAY THE HELL OUT OF THAT FUCKING MORTGAGE.
AND THEN WHEN THE GUTTERS ARE CLOGGED I’LL GET UP THAT FUCKING LADDER AND CLEAN THAT SHIT UP WHILE YOU STAND BY THE KITCHEN WINDOW COMICALLY JUDGING MY WORK.
AND THEN WE CAN VACUUM THE FUCK OUT OF OUR CARPET SO HARD THAT WE’LL HAVE TO GET A NEW ONE.
WE’LL WASH OUR CLOTHES SO GODDAMN FUCKING HARD. FORGET NO RINSE, WE’LL USE HIGH FUCKING SPEED.
BUY A FUCKING MINIVAN TO STUFF OUR BEAUTIFUL FUCKING BABIES INTO IT AND DRIVE THE FUCK OUT OF IT.
THEN WE CAN GO SOME FUCKING PARENT-TEACHER MEETINGS AND MEET THE FUCK OUT OF OUR KID’S TEACHER. THEN JUDGE THE SHIT OF HER IN THE CAR.
AND WE CAN THEN PILE ALL THE CHILDREN IN THE FUCKING MINIVAN AND GO TO THE STORE AND SHOP FOR GROCERIES SO HARD THAT WE ACTUALLY HAVE TO MAKE MORE THAN TWO TRIPS TO GET ALL THAT SHIT INSIDE THE HOUSE.
AND THEN COOK THE FUCK OUT OF OUR KITCHEN UNTIL WE HAVE NO FOOD LEFT AND WE FEAST ON THAT SHIT FOR FUCKING DAYS.
I WILL EAT THE FUCK OUT OF YOUR HOMEMADE COOKIES.
THEN WASH THE SHIT OUT ON THE DISHES TOGETHER UNTIL OUR ENTIRE HANDS GET FUCKING PRUNEY.
WE’LL WATCH OUR KIDS FUCKING GRADUATE AND MOTHER FUCKING TEAR UP LIKE THE BADASS BOSSES WE FUCKING ARE.
WE WILL GROW SO DAMN OLD TOGETHER, WE WILL LOOK LIKE FUCKING RAISINS.
I WILL FUCKING TELL YOU EVERY SINGLE SECOND HOW MUCH I FUCKING LOVE YOU.
HOLDING EACH OTHER’S FUCKING HANDS SO HARD THAT WE SHIT OUR SELVES.
UNTIL WE DIE AND ROT AS MOTHERFUCKING CORPSES TOGETHER.
TIL DEATH DO US FUCKIN PART.
HAPPILY EVER FUCKING AFTER.

i fucking love the shit out of this.

Reblogging this again cuz it is literally my favorite post ever

can these be my marriage vows

coruscantcannibal:

gdmcrlover:

beatboxgoesthump:

THEN RAISE THE FUCK OUT OF OUR KIDS!

AND GIVE YOU ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING LOVE AND SUPPORT YOU’D EVER FUCKING NEED.

AND PAY THE HELL OUT OF THAT FUCKING MORTGAGE.

AND THEN WHEN THE GUTTERS ARE CLOGGED I’LL GET UP THAT FUCKING LADDER AND CLEAN THAT SHIT UP WHILE YOU STAND BY THE KITCHEN WINDOW COMICALLY JUDGING MY WORK.

AND THEN WE CAN VACUUM THE FUCK OUT OF OUR CARPET SO HARD THAT WE’LL HAVE TO GET A NEW ONE.

WE’LL WASH OUR CLOTHES SO GODDAMN FUCKING HARD. FORGET NO RINSE, WE’LL USE HIGH FUCKING SPEED.

BUY A FUCKING MINIVAN TO STUFF OUR BEAUTIFUL FUCKING BABIES INTO IT AND DRIVE THE FUCK OUT OF IT.

THEN WE CAN GO SOME FUCKING PARENT-TEACHER MEETINGS AND MEET THE FUCK OUT OF OUR KID’S TEACHER. THEN JUDGE THE SHIT OF HER IN THE CAR.

AND WE CAN THEN PILE ALL THE CHILDREN IN THE FUCKING MINIVAN AND GO TO THE STORE AND SHOP FOR GROCERIES SO HARD THAT WE ACTUALLY HAVE TO MAKE MORE THAN TWO TRIPS TO GET ALL THAT SHIT INSIDE THE HOUSE.

AND THEN COOK THE FUCK OUT OF OUR KITCHEN UNTIL WE HAVE NO FOOD LEFT AND WE FEAST ON THAT SHIT FOR FUCKING DAYS.

I WILL EAT THE FUCK OUT OF YOUR HOMEMADE COOKIES.

THEN WASH THE SHIT OUT ON THE DISHES TOGETHER UNTIL OUR ENTIRE HANDS GET FUCKING PRUNEY.

WE’LL WATCH OUR KIDS FUCKING GRADUATE AND MOTHER FUCKING TEAR UP LIKE THE BADASS BOSSES WE FUCKING ARE.

WE WILL GROW SO DAMN OLD TOGETHER, WE WILL LOOK LIKE FUCKING RAISINS.

I WILL FUCKING TELL YOU EVERY SINGLE SECOND HOW MUCH I FUCKING LOVE YOU.

HOLDING EACH OTHER’S FUCKING HANDS SO HARD THAT WE SHIT OUR SELVES.

UNTIL WE DIE AND ROT AS MOTHERFUCKING CORPSES TOGETHER.

TIL DEATH DO US FUCKIN PART.

HAPPILY EVER FUCKING AFTER.

i fucking love the shit out of this.

Reblogging this again cuz it is literally my favorite post ever

can these be my marriage vows

(via i-dont-feel-empty-anymore)

multipack:

excuse me mom but whoever smelt it dealt it so it is in fact YOU who’s doing the weed

(Source: ihaveremade, via i-dont-feel-empty-anymore)

makethatkittenpurr:

preach

My favorite part of this photo is that there is absolutely no reason for Jason Segel to be in it and yet there he is laying on Seth Rogen