oh, you pretty things

tadpoledancer:

YOU ARE BEING SAD AND YOU DESERVE TO BE NOT BEING SAD. 

SO! HERE IS THING!

okay first check out these tags!: :D :D :D / faith / happy things / hugs / kisses / mbm / positive mental attitude / positivity / really brilliant things / really cute things / really good posts / x 

and these blogs!: bodyposifitness / dailyreasontobehappy / hopeloverandom / forwhenyouneedhope / thenarcissismgame

also here’s that emergency compliment generator and these two playlists of happy songs! :D :D

and if you still need cheering up - or just need a distraction - go watch qi or adventure time or listen to cabin pressure (because it is like 100% impossible to be sad when listening to cabin pressure) :D also this short film because it’s absolutely adorable! and here’s two straight hours of ‘scenes from a hat’ from whose line. :D

and compassionpit is a really good website if you ever need to talk to someone about stuff, or if you would like to help somebody else out with their own problems! and feel free to ask me anything, i’m always happy to talk about anything you would like to talk about! :D

so. yeah! i hope you have a nice day!! :D :D :D

(Source: theinvisibleking, via endquestionmark)

averymiacrissmas:

this might not be the same for you as it is for me but

repeat after me:

• YOUR MENTAL HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR GPA
• YOUR MENTAL HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR GPA
• YOUR MENTAL HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR GPA
• YOUR MENTAL HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR GPA
• YOUR MENTAL HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR GPA
• YOUR MENTAL HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR GPA
• YOUR MENTAL HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR GPA
• YOUR MENTAL HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR GPA

(Source: blaineheavenanderson, via magebird)

Your Daily Reminder That

kaylkat:

• your limitations are real and don’t make you worthless no matter how low they are or how high you want them to be
• it’s okay to want your limitations to be higher but
• you and your mental/emotional/physical health are important
• taking time off from responsibilities and obligations so you can look after yourself does not make you a bad person
• doing nothing all day but things you like & make you happy doesn’t mean you’re lazy or shirking your work
• it’s a form of self care
• you are worth looking after
• you are worth looking after
• you are fucking worth looking after

(via rubato)

Birthday

bifurious:

At 12 years old I started bleeding with the moon
and beating up boys who dreamed of becoming astronauts.
I fought with my knuckles white as stars,
and left bruises the shape of Salem.
There are things we know by heart,
and things we don’t. 
 
At 13 my friend Jen tried to teach me how to blow rings of smoke.
I’d watch the nicotine rising from her lips like halos,
but I could never make dying beautiful.
The sky didn’t fill with colors the night I convinced myself
veins are kite strings you can only cut free.
I suppose I love this life,
 
in spite of my clenched fist.
 
I open my palm and my lifelines look like branches from an Aspen tree,
and there are songbirds perched on the tips of my fingers,
and I wonder if Beethoven held his breath
the first time his fingers touched the keys
the same way a soldier holds his breath
the first time his finger clicks the trigger.
We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe.
 
But my lungs remember
the day my mother took my hand and placed it on her belly
and told me the symphony beneath was my baby sister’s heartbeat.
And I knew life would tremble
like the first tear on a prison guard’s hardened cheek,
like a prayer on a dying man’s lips,
like a vet holding a full bottle of whisky like an empty gun in a war zone…
just take me      just take me
 
Sometimes the scales themselves weigh far too much,
the heaviness of forever balancing blue sky with red blood.
We were all born on days when too many people died in terrible ways,
but you still have to call it a birthday.
You still have to fall for the prettiest girl on the playground at recess
and hope she knows you can hit a baseball
further than any boy in the whole third grade
 
and I’ve been running for home
through the windpipe of a man who sings
while his hands playing washboard with a spoon
on a street corner in New Orleans
where every boarded up window is still painted with the words
We’re Coming Back
like a promise to the ocean
that we will always keep moving towards the music,
the way Basquait slept in a cardboard box to be closer to the rain.
 
Beauty, catch me on your tongue. 
Thunder, clap us open.
The pupils in our eyes were not born to hide beneath their desks.
Tonight lay us down to rest in the Arizona dessert,
then wake us washing the feet of pregnant women
who climbed across the border with their bellies aimed towards the sun.
I know a thousand things louder than a soldier’s gun.
I know the heartbeat of his mother.
 
Don’t cover your ears, Love.
Don’t cover your ears, Life.
There is a boy writing poems in Central Park
and as he writes he moves
and his bones become the bars of Mandela’s jail cell stretching apart,
and there are men playing chess in the December cold
who can’t tell if the breath rising from the board
is their opponents or their own,
and there’s a woman on the stairwell of the subway
swearing she can hear Niagara Falls from her rooftop in Brooklyn,
and I’m remembering how Niagara Falls is a city overrun
with strip malls and traffic and vendors
and one incredibly brave river that makes it all worth it. 
 
Y’all, I know this world is far from perfect.
I am not the type to mistake a streetlight for the moon.
I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic.
But every ocean has a shoreline
and every shoreline has a tide
that is constantly returning
to wake the songbirds in our hands, 
to wake the music in our bones,
to place one fearless kiss on the mouth of that brave river
that has to run through the center of our hearts
to find its way home.

-Andrea Gibson

(Source: braveriver, via endquestionmark)