I was 11 and I hated when my parents drank. I don’t know why. I hated it dearly, so one time they did & they went to get pizza and beers with my cousins, I was stuck in a hotel waiting for them to come back & when they did they were even shittier then they were before they left, I started hysterically crying because I was convinced they went to a strip club for some ungodly reason even though they had fucking 8 boxes of pizza with them & there weren’t any strip clubs around & I don’t know why that would even bother me. I was a weird fucking kid.
It’s hard to explain but I will try my best.
Left arm: white & light pink meditating Buddha surrounded by flowers such as; cherry blossoms, lotus flowers, snapdragons, roses, petunias, daisies, irises, baby’s breath etc.
The flowers would travel onto my collar bone around & under my breast & climb over my ribs & fade to my back.
Underneath left arm: “you’d break your neck to keep your chin up”
Trailing from neck to shoulder on left side: “not all who wander are lost; in elvish. Flowers would underneath from half sleeve.
Right side of breast: “It is better to be hated for who you are,
than loved for who you’re not”
Right foot: La Dispute flower.
Left foot: cherries
Left ankle: Irish claddagh anklet.
Back of neck: diamond
Right thigh: blue monarch butterfly with ripped wings over scars.
Right pinky finger: “trust no one”
Old fashion sailor tattoo mermaid on left thigh
“Pepsi cola” on my waist line.
Piercings I want:
Chest & Back of the neck (surface skin anchors)
Sweater Weather (Acoustic) | The Neighbourhood
Reblogging twice in a row because this is fucking beautiful I don’t care
I remember a man that pointed out my flaws to me,
Slapped me in my face with back handed compliments,
Stole my time & my heart just because.
I fucking hate that man.
I hate him so much.
He made me look at myself,
He made me see ugly things.
He made me realize that my choices where not really mine.
I was a puppet for others
He was a fucked up man.
He is probably still just as fucked up.
To bad I don’t think about him like I use too.
I’m too busy thinking about the man that make me love myself.
The one that calls me Perfect.
He is a real fucking man,
All those before him were cowards.