Kurt, they're beautiful...






















Everybody should have this on your blog



This was my chemistry professor.

#There are so many things about this image that I love 
Andrew by Andrea Gibson


When I was a kid I would sometimes
Secretly call myself Andrew
Would tug at the crotch of my pants the way
Only pubescent boys do
Ran around pounding on my bare chest like tarzan
It’s not that I thought I’d grow up to be a man
I just never thought I’d grow up to be a woman either
From what I could tell neither of those categories
Seemed to fit me
But believe me, I knew from a very young age never to say
Hey dad, this adam and eve thing isn’t really working for me
I mean, what about all the people in between?

In the third grade lynette lyons aksed me
Where all of my barbies were
I lied and told her I got in trouble
So my mom took them away
I didn’t dare say: barbie sucks, lynette!
And for that matter tommy, so does gi joe
I wanna grow into something none of us have ever seen before
And gender is just one of the ways
We’re boxed in and labeled before we’re ever able 
To speak who we believe we are
Or who we dream we’ll become
Like drumbeats forever changing their rhythm
I am living today as someone I had not yet become yesterday
And tonight I will borrow only pieces of who I am today
To carry with me to tomorrow
No I’m not gay
No I’m not straight
And I’m sure as hell not bisexual damnit
I am whoever I am when I am it.
Loving whoever you are when the stars shine
And whoever you’ll be when the sun rises
Yes, I like girls
Yes, I like boys
Yes, I like boys who like boys
I like girls who wear toys and girls who don’t 
Girls who don’t call themselves girls
Crew cuts or curls or that really bad hair phase in between

I like steam rising from the body of a one-night stand
I like holding hands for three months before kissing
I like wishing your body was Saturn
My body a thousand rings wrapped around you
You wanted to be a Buddhist nun once
Last night you held my cervix between your fingers
I thanked gods I don’t believe in for your changing

Tell me we’ll be naming our children beautiful and nothing else
Tell Barbie she can go now
Tell gi joe to put his gun down and find a boyfriend
Or a girlfriend
Or a girl/boyfriend
Fuck it, gi joe just needs a friend, y’all
I mean, he’s plastic
And not even the kind of plastic that bends
I want to bend in a thousand directions
Like the sun does
Like love does
Like time stopped
So the hands of the clock could hold each other

And we held each other like I held these words
For too many years on the tip of my tongue
I am my mother’s daughter
I am midnight’s sun
You can find me on the moon
Waxing and waning
My heart full of petals
Every single one begging
Love me, love me, love me
Whoever I am
Whoever I become

The Drums - Me And The Moon
123 plays

The Drums- Me and the Moon


*re-reads sex chapter of fanfiction over breakfast cereal like it’s the morning paper*



all four

all of the Panic! at the Disco albums in order



all four

all of the Panic! at the Disco albums in order


putting stuff on your blog that you enjoy is 10000% better than trying to stick to one category

Staircase by Andrea Gibson


"Across the water

a train moves slow against the trees

like the bow of an aching violin.

At my side a child

is begging her mother for milk.

The mother is a broken staircase with fresh paint.

Someday the daughter’s dreams will fall through

and I will turn my chest into an elevator

right before she tells me

she’s claustrophobic.

For now I say, ‘Listen to that train.

It is full of milk.

The mother grabs the daughter by the sleeve,

pulls her down the beach.

On the shore the daughter finds a pebble

the color of a wedding gown,

puts it in her mouth,

crookeds her teeth,

is no longer hungry.

I dream I am a prince

or a knight

in shining removable armor.

My love’s last lover is a sword

I keep falling on.

I think too much when I kiss.

If love did not exist

I would be so goddamn sane

my poems would be billboards.

Suburbia would be enough.

I would not have to gut myself to find my spine

crushed into powder

and brushed on her cheekbones.

My hair would not be a hummingbird’s nest.

My mind would not have to move so fast to rest.

I would not be in North Carolina

tearing flowers from the motel flowerpots,

searching for a love-me-not I can drop like a guillotine

on my own gallop chest.

It is incredible what kind of mess I can make

with a nine-hour drive and an unanswered text.

Yes, that is me

crying to the tollbooth man.

I say,

'In the ghost town of our love

there is a player piano

trying to prove it can make music

without being touched.

My fingertips miss her so much.’

He hands me no change.

Tells me there’s a Laundromat down the highway

that is also a bar.

I could make a clean getaway.

I could fall of the wagon and catch

a freight train of insanity straight through this mountain.

I could at the very least wash my clothes

so I could for once in my life know

what it’s like to have control of the spin cycle,

what’s it’s like to know

what the yarn knows of sweaters,

how to hold myself together.

Love, I know it is not sexy to make-out

with someone who so constantly

has their foot in their mouth.

But remember I am also the one who told you

I want to feel you like the lifelines on the palms of Jesus

felt the nails go through.

I want to make popcorn with you, with the lid off.

Yes, that’s sexy alk.

Yes, I’m freaky.

Yes, I heard the bartender say

it is not holy water if it doesn’t burn going down

and you are hot

enough to keep me sober

on a Saturday night on Bourbon Street.

I told her, ‘You have a heart of gold

and I am kneeling in your bloodstream

panning for the only thing that has ever felt like home.’

Across the water a train moves

slow against the trees, and I say, ‘Listen

to that train. Let’s follow it wherever it goes.’”


this is so important to me


My anaconda will take whatever it can get at this point