I'm a decaying piece of organic matter, but you can call me Claire. I'm a bookworm, isolated in the depths of non-reality, I live in splotches of color and orangey sunsets-- sometimes even in the absence of color at all, like a boring newspaper spread on Sunday mornings. I breath and long, intricate sentences come out, weaved neatly of beautiful adjectives and solemn metaphors. I whisper activism in my deepest sleep. I am alive in the most ways possible, I have an eye for beauty and an ear for music. I sit alone sometimes and ask the world why I'm here, and I still haven't got much of an answer. I will never give up on asking. I will never stop thinking, and I like that about myself.
Best Realization of the Day…
Boners are like a universal language.
And fuck bitches who sit on guys laps and then get pissed because they get a hard on.
You know what?
These have to be the same bitches that get mad when you stare at their boobs, even though they’re more exposed then Lewinsky and Clinton on national television in 1998.
If you’re a slut, you’re now obligated to name your boobies Lewinsky and Clinton,
just because.
in the catholic ghetto, born and raised
at the playground is where I bullied most of the gays
relaxin chillaxin communion all cool
oppressing some minorities outside the school
when a couple of gays who were up to no good started making out in my friendly white neighborhood
I burned one little cross and the blacks got scared
And said “You’ll never be in the White House as long as we breathe air”
(Source: mechastreisand)
Everyone with the coolest Tumblr
Has some kind of theme, or something they just are constantly are posting about because they’re obsessed with it.
I don’t have an obsessive personality.
I wish I was cool like you guys.
