Weird Tumblr Themes

I'm a tard, a performer and a princess. I cry when I laugh too much. Erasable highlighters make me happy. My happiness is shallow and I like it that way. Ask me anything. I like getting asked. I feel smart.

I'm NOT short, I'm bite sized ;)

soundcloud.com/samwie

Day 53: Adventure is out there! || Extremely happy for words :) wahhhh. Another day in the beach another day to act stupid and be vain :))) I wish I could stay here forever :( <3

Day 53: Adventure is out there! || Extremely happy for words :) wahhhh. Another day in the beach another day to act stupid and be vain :))) I wish I could stay here forever :( <3

Day 31: Goodbye Ateneo.

Appreciating the campus before I finally say adiis to this sem &lt;3

Day 31: Goodbye Ateneo.

Appreciating the campus before I finally say adiis to this sem <3

Day 18: colors.


This is very bad but I have recently( by that I mean today) gotten addicted to making these stupid bracelets. Hahaha yey colors!!! :D

Day 18: colors.


This is very bad but I have recently( by that I mean today) gotten addicted to making these stupid bracelets. Hahaha yey colors!!! :D

Day 6: the beach.

Throw back to when things weren&#8217;t so stressful. Guhh summer please come faster! :(

Day 6: the beach.

Throw back to when things weren’t so stressful. Guhh summer please come faster! :(

Dinner with my daddy. Home cooked steak and some jack and coke &lt;3

Dinner with my daddy. Home cooked steak and some jack and coke <3

Those days when you feel so alone suck dont they?

One day, he’s going to know. He’ll know your birthday, your middle name, where you were born, your star sign, and your parents names. He’ll know how old you were when you learnt to ride a bike, how your grandparents passed away, how many pets you had, and how much you hated going to school. He’ll know your eye colour, your scars, your freckles, your laugh lines and your birth marks. He’ll know your favourite book, movie, candy, food, pair of shoes, colour, and song. He’s going to know why you’re awake at 5am most nights, where you were when you realised you’d lost a good friend, why you picked up the razor and how you managed to put it down before things went too far. He’s going to know your phobias, your dreams, your fears, your wishes, and your worries. He’s going to know about your first heartbreak, your dream wedding, and your problems with your parents. He’ll know your strengths, weaknesses, laziness, energy, and your mixed emotions. He’s going to know about your love for mayonnaise, your dream of being famous when you were five, your need to quote any film you know all the way through, and your fear of growing older. He’ll know your bad habits, your mannerisms, your stroppy pout, your facial expressions, and your laugh like it’s his favourite song. The way you chew, drink, walk, sleep, fidget and kiss. He’s going to know that you’ve already picked out wedding flowers, baby names, tiles for the bathroom, bridesmaid dresses, and the colour of your bedroom walls. He’s going to know, get annoyed at and then accept that you leave clothes everywhere, take twenty minutes to order a Starbucks, have to organise your DVD’s alphabetically, and check your horoscope… just incase. He’ll know your McDonald’s order, how many sugars to put in your tea, how many scoops of ice cream you want, and that you need your sandwiches cut into triangles. He’s going to know how you feel without you telling him, that you need a wee from a look on your face, and that you’re crying without shedding tears. He’s going to know all of it. Everything. You, from top to bottom and inside out. From learning, from sharing, from listening, from watching. He’s going to know every single thing there is to know, and you know what else? He is still going to love you.

tom-delonge:

have you ever tried going down the stairs on all fours

don’t

See I’m going to be honest, I’m not a love poet
But if I was to wake up tomorrow morning and decide that I really wanted to write about love I swear that my first poem…
It would be about you

About how I loved you the same way that I learned how to ride a bike: Scared
But reckless with no training wheels or elbow pads so my scars can tell the story of how I fell for you

You see, I’m not really a love poet
But if I was I’d write about how I see your face in every cloud and your reflection in every window
You see I’ve written like a million poems hoping that somehow maybe someway you’ll jump out of the page and be closer to me
Because if you were here, right now
I would massage your back until your skin sings songs that your lips don’t even know the words to

Until your heartbeat sounds like my last name and you smile like the pacific ocean
I want to drink the sunlight in your skin
If I was a love poet
I’d write about how you have the audacity to be beautiful
Even on days when everything around you is ugly
You see I’d write about your eyelashes and how they are like violin strings that play symphonies every time you blink

If I was a love poet
I’d write about how I melt in front of you like an ice sculpture
Every time I hear the vibration in your voice so whenever I see your name on the caller ID my heart
It plays hop scotch inside of my chest
Yo it climbs on to my ribs like monkey bars and I feel like a child all over again
I know this sounds strange but every now and then I pray that God somehow turns you back in to one of my ribs…
Just so that I would never have to spend an entire day without you

I swear, I’m not a love poet
But if I was to wake up tomorrow morning and decide that I really wanted to write about love
My first poem it would be about you