mistakes are not always regrets.

hello. my name is bird. it’s not my real name but it is what everyone i know calls me. i dream of becoming a stage/technical manager focusing mainly on stage lighting. i find photography very beautiful but do not plan on becoming any better at it. i have an obsession with my converse… but who doesn’t? words are the most wonderful things. i don’t care for capitals. capitalizing ‘i’ seems self absorbed to me. i love music and am a sucker for anything acoustic. i play guitar and sing. my favorite colour is purple. i use ellipses frequently. i have a phobia of dry skin. ich spreche deutsch… nicht sehr gut. i am bird.
wait... what?

Anonymous asked: What state do you live in?


constant anxiety

(Source: memewhore)

i’m a collector of sorts


All Time Low - Dear Maria, Count Me In


All Time Low - Dear Maria, Count Me In

(Source: butfuentes)


'its just a feeling i get'

(Source: vein)

Something else is hurting you - that’s why you need pot or whiskey, or screaming music turned so fucking loud you can’t think.

Charles Bukowski  (via vveeknds)

(Source: mytheatreofcruelty)




how do people rap i cant even talk without messing it up


This is how to run a stick of Chapstick
down the black boxes on your scantron
so the grading machine skips the wrong
answers. This is how to honor roll. Hell,
this is how to National Honor Society.
This is being voted “Most Likely to Marry
for Money” or “Talks the Most, Says the
Least” for senior superlatives. This is
stepping around the kids having panic
attacks in the hallway. This is being the
kid having a panic attack in the hallway.
This is making the A with purple moons
stamped under both eyes. We had to try.
This is telling the ACT supervisor you have
ADHD to get extra time. Today, the average
high school student has the same anxiety
levels as the average 1950’s psychiatric
patient. We know the Pythagorean theorem
by heart, but short-circuit when asked
“How are you?” We don’t know. We don’t
know. That wasn’t on the study guide.
We usually know the answer, but rarely
know ourselves.

HIGH SCHOOL By Blythe Baird (via blythebrooklyn)

(Source: rlyhigh)

The piano is still here,
but your hands are gone with the rest of you.
I almost taped your face to the milk carton
because breakfast is empty without you sipping your tea,
and this is the only place I know to put
missing people.
I watch the children on the five o’clock news
grow into adults by eleven o’clock,
except now they’re on the other side of the line-up.
Everyday, a mother loses her child ,
and it’s always for a different reason.
I don’t know what it’s like to get lost accidentally
because my whole life I’ve been doing it on purpose.
What a privilege it is to choose to be hidden
when most people can’t even find themselves.
This poem is bleeding,
so that means you must be kissing someone new.
It’s okay, you can go home now. You don’t need excuses.
I understand if the island you are sinking your
feet into is softer than I was,
but I never meant to be something you
could stand on to get taller.
There is a cup of tea waiting here for you on the counter,
and it’s vanishing as we speak.
I’m not making another one for a while.
I guess you’ll just
have to disappear in someone else’s house
next time.

Y.Z, A trick of the three o’clock light (via rustyvoices)



This scares me.

but imagine going into a store and being like “yes i need three thousand knives”

(Source: likeafieldmouse)

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