(Source: mixed-people-problems)

When you find out someone you know is biracial or multiracial.



You know deep down you play the same guessing game as everyone else. You just politely keep it to yourself and get to know them as a person first. 


Mixed kids are experts at crafting community.

We have to be, because of comments, attitudes, and beliefs like the ones expressed above. We know better than anyone else that you don’t have to be family to be kin, that you can’t always rely on your People to be your people.

Dual ethnic rejection means that you have no one. 

White people aren’t my people for obvious reasons.

My cousin doesn’t think I’m a real human person. He has never “mistreated” me, but he has also never mistreated the cat.

Black people aren’t my people for obvious reasons.

Talmbout some “pure bred” shit.

My people are deviants.

I am too filthy for white people and too dilute for Blacks, so I get to go sit at the Mulatta table and watch both sides of my family alternatively not want me and then fight over me, fight for who gets to lay claim to my skin and my hair and my Other and who gets the honor of laying apart the cells of my flesh and the breath of my day to put me into one of two boxes and in the meantime letting words come out their mouths like they don’t think I been listening for nineteen years.

My people are deviants. 

I live in a community of deviants and I feel the strain in my sinew as I stretch my arms to hold all those people together close to me, because I can never tell who is going to be my kin and who is going to brand me with that scarlet M —





My people are deviants.

My people deviate from one standard or another

My people are not identified by the color of their skin alone, but by the history of their blood and the stories in their fingerprints


My people too often are told they deviate from human

My people’s parents are too often told that they have sinned in the eyes of some God

My people are called living abortions

My people are called absolute abominations


My people shed their skin in the mirror

My people suffer dysphoria when they run their hands over their skin

My people breathe politics and eat it too

My people worry they are a disgrace to their parents

My people’s parents worry that they have failed their children


And underneath it all my people have no where to call home.


is this even a kid show

(Source: thespoonmissioner, via hi)


Holy shit



Holy shit


(Source: malepix, via dickraftlovecunt)

(Source: the-beauty-of-words-blog)




Ready for April fools day
Gonna take it to school and eat it

I ate 3/4 of the jar and I made 3 teachers gag and one friend get angry at me.

fuck bro, I thought you were gunna fill all those cups with mayonnaise and hand them out at school and some serious shit was gunna go down

Yes I thought he was going to do an asshole thing with those.

(via perolikeno)

Tina knows my life now.

(Source: myfricklefrackleromance, via dickraftlovecunt)


It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.


It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)

I don’t know who wrote this, but I love it.

(via tootpootwoot)

(Source: the-beauty-of-words-blog)


(Source: pinkmanjesse, via thatzak)

That awkward moment when you talk to the guy you are interested in and then you say something to make it awkward

I just don’t know how I do this stuff.




Chubby Raichu appreciation post



(Source: zerochan.net, via punkmonksteven)





(via rememberto-loveyourself)


// The engagement of the wonderful Andrew and Sarah //

Nature engagement photos. I love these.

(via rememberto-loveyourself)