well, my name is Blaire, and I like going to the park with you.
brooklyn, new york
Sometimes i am Bob, sometimes i am Linda.
Dwight, you ignorant slut.
for some reason I feel really alone & sorry for myself & that’s bad & not good.
what’s with that post. the one about it being the worst day ever whenever someone plays the ukulele. you are wrong & also not fun.
I passed brittney on the freeway & prepared to flip her off & she was already flipping me off & it was so beautiful I almost teared up.
I got so much crap when I cut my hair the second time. All I heard was, “you have such beautiful hair why did you cut it?” When my hair got long enough I got loc extensions. I heard nothing but praise. “Now you look like a woman.” “Don’t ever cut your hair again, you look so much better.” Until I went home and my grandparents gave me crap for having locs.
I am not my hair. And no matter how I choose to style it, I look beautiful. My hair and what I choose to do with it does not define me nor does it concern you. And no matter how I wear it I look divine because of who I am, not what is on my head.
For we are like tree trunks in the snow. In appearance they lie sleekly and a light push should be enough to set them rolling. No, it can’t be done, for they are firmly wedded to the ground. But see, even that is only appearance.