For those who like words. None of this is mine unless otherwise stated! If so, I do tag it and it can be accessed below in "My Stuff." If you'd like to share something, please submit it, I have the link below!
Reblogged from twinkle-tea  123,317 notes

November 19th, 2013,
‘Selfie’ was named the Word of the Year by the Oxford Dictionary
Pseudo-intellectuals everywhere cried about the ‘death of the English language’
Because God forbid modern colloquial speech be recognised as valid.
Time Magazine refers to ‘millenials’ as the ‘me me me generation’
Selfish, all we care about is personal gratification
Lazy, entitled, shallow narcissists.
A picture of a girl taking a selfie on her phone is used for the cover
Because our selfishness can be summed up in the fact that we like how we look enough to document it.
We are consumed, they tell us, with our self image.
Everything is about us.
Me-me-me.
With the addition of every word to the dictionary,
‘Hashtag’. ‘Perf’. ‘Sexting’. ‘Totes’. ‘Selfie’,
The ‘me-me-me’ generation continues to make it all about ourselves,
And we should, they tell us, weep,
We should weep because we are entitled,
Because all we care about are selfies and parties and Instagram,
Because this is the generation that will one day run the world,
And for that, we should weep,
Because all we are is ‘me-me-me’.
Let me tell you something.
Every year, university tuition will be 2.3% more expensive for MY GENERATION,
MY GENERATION reports the highest levels of anxiety and depression than ANY other generation,
15% more of US than YOU will go to university,
But 46% of MY GENERATION won’t find a job until over a year after law school,
MY GENERATION, on average, is $47,628 in debt.
58% of girls in MY GENERATION feels like they are the wrong weight,
95% of people with eating disorders are part of MY GENERATION,
And MY GENERATION has a million dollar industry telling us that we are not good enough,
That we are ugly, lazy, and entitled,
And anything we do to be financially successful,
Or less stressed,
Or beautiful, god dammit,
Is in vain.
So pick up your phone,
Pick your favourite filter,
And take a goddamn selfie.
You deserve it for having to grow up in these times. By My poem, ‘Hashtag Selfie’. (via dingdongyouarewrong)

Reblogged from angrykitteh  156,592 notes

ttthhhooorrriiinnn:

elronds-eyebrows:

dragonriderofberk:

forficwritersbyficwriters:

amandaonwriting:

Cheat Sheets for Writing Body Language

We are always told to use body language in our writing. Sometimes, it’s easier said than written. I decided to create these cheat sheets to help you show a character’s state of mind. Obviously, a character may exhibit a number of these behaviours. For example, he may be shocked and angry, or shocked and happy. Use these combinations as needed.

by Amanda Patterson

You guys, this is such a great chart especially for budding writers. Sometimes it’s more effective to show a character being bored or excited or shocked without explicitly saying so.

Where had this been all my life?

This isn’t just useful for writing, this is an absolute lifesaver for people with Asperger’s syndrome and other disorders

I needed this.

Reblogged from mortons--fork  86,893 notes

I will be your
7 AM sleepy kisses
8 AM French toast
9 AM rushed goodbyes
10 AM love calls
11 AM daydreams
12 PM lunch notes
1 PM new email
2 PM coffee break texts
3 PM reminiscent thoughts
4 PM longing
5 PM drained love
6 PM post-work hugs
7 PM dinner companion
8 PM wine bottle
9 PM tango
10 PM readying for bed
11 PM bedtime stories
12 PM Midnight Sonata
1 AM confessions
2 AM heavy snores
3 AM morning sex
4 AM driftless sleep
5 AM frenzied fantasies
6 AM rapturous sleep
I will be your
Clock. By Grace C., Timepiece (via frankie-wolf)

Why is it
That if I see a guy getting condoms,
Something for pleasure,
Something he doesn’t have to use;
The faces around him
Speak approval
But when I have been reminded
Of the existence of my uterus
I am embarrassed to buy tampons
Something for necessity,
Something I have to use.
For years I have been told,
“Be chaste, dear.”
“Legs closed.”
“Don’t challenge.”
While my brother has been fed,
“Sex is expected of you.”
“Take up space.”
“Assert your dominance.”
But what if
Neither of us want to comply?
What if
I want to talk about what I believe,
And my brother doesn’t let his bed define him?
What if
I can have hot flashes,
Wear a bra,
Wash the dishes,
Do my nails,
And STILL be a CEO?
What if
My brother was taught that we’re equals,
Knew not to ask what they were wearing,
Heard “no”
And stopped,
And was STILL respected as a man?
Then maybe,
We would be free. By Why I Need It, a poem by Darden Walton

The head of a company survived 9/11 because
His son started kindergarten.

Another fellow was alive because it was
His turn to bring donuts.

One woman was late because her
Alarm clock didn’t go off in time.

One was late because of being stuck on the NJ Turnpike
Because of an auto accident.

One of them
Missed his bus.

One spilled food on her clothes and had to take
Time to change.

One’s
Car wouldn’t start.

One couldn’t
Get a taxi.

The one that struck me was the man
Who put on a new pair of shoes that morning,
Took the various means to get to work but before.
He got there, he developed a blister on his foot.
He stopped at a drugstore to buy a Band-Aid.
That is why he is alive today..

Now when I am
Stuck in traffic,
Miss an elevator,
Turn back to answer a ringing telephone…
All the little things that annoy me,
I think to myself,

This is exactly where
I’m meant to be
At this very moment

By (via theoutsiders)

Reblogged from random-insaan  546,866 notes

we-could-have-danced-all-night:

queerenby:

filisexual:

royalpancake:

a short poem:

do teachers
understand
that you take
other classes

another short poem:

yes but see
they are all
required
by the district
or state
to assign a
certain amount
of gradable
material per
semester so
they can get
paid and earn
raises and bonuses
and keep
their jobs and
funding

a revised short poem:

does the district
or state
understand
that you take
other classes

another short poem:

no

Reblogged from imsheezusbitch  10,924 notes

I swear to every heaven ever imagined,
if I hear one more dead-eyed hipster
tell me that art is dead, I will personally summon Shakespeare
from the grave so he can tell them every reason
why he wishes he were born in a time where
he could have a damn Gmail account.
The day after I taught my mother
how to send pictures over Iphone she texted
me a blurry image of our cocker spaniel ten times in a row.
Don’t you dare try to tell me that that is not beautiful.
But whatever, go ahead and choose to stay in
your backwards-hoping-all-inclusive club
while the rest of us fall in love over Skype.
Send angry letters to state representatives,
as we record the years first sunrise so
we can remember what beginning feels like when
we are inches away from the trigger.
Lock yourself away in your Antoinette castle
while we eat cake and tweet to the whole universe that we did.
Hashtag you’re a pretentious ass hole.
Van Gogh would have taken 20 selfies a day.
Sylvia Plath would have texted her lovers
nothing but heart eyed emojis when she ran out of words.
Andy Warhol would have had the worlds weirdest Vine account,
and we all would have checked it every morning while we
Snap Chat our coffee orders to the people
we wish were pressed against our lips instead of lattes.
This life is spilling over with 85 year olds
rewatching JFK’s assassination and
7 year olds teaching themselves guitar over Youtube videos.
Never again do I have to be afraid of forgetting
what my fathers voice sounds like.
No longer must we sneak into our families phonebook
to look up an eating disorder hotline for our best friend.
No more must I wonder what people in Australia sound like
or how grasshoppers procreate.
I will gleefully continue to take pictures of tulips
in public parks on my cellphone
and you will continue to scoff and that is okay.
But I hope, I pray, that one day you will realize how blessed
you are to be alive in a moment where you can google search
how to say I love you in 164 different languages By b.e. fitzgerald (via crackademia)

Am I really
Living in a society where it’s acceptable for a man
To shoot a woman for hurting his ego,
But not for a woman to get frustrated
When she breaks a nail
Am I really
Experiencing a time in which
I can wear a dress acceptable for church,
But if I have it on in school I will be a distraction
For the boy with the indelible right to rape me anyway,
And justify it by saying that he thought I meant yes
Am I really
Terrified now
Not by the bees and tornadoes and heights of my childhood,
But by the beasts
Who plague the streets,
And beg for a body I am not ready to share
Am I really
Able to admit
That I’ve seen a female judge sentence a 20 year old man
To community service
For raping a 14 year old girl,
Rather than seeing the grit of her teeth
When she said:
“Life. For the one you took from her.”
Am I really
Subject to bearing the come-ons of a drunk in a bar
That is blind to recognize
That my failure to make eye contact is of
Nervousness
Not of excitement
That the tremble in my voice is of
Intimidation
Not of lust
That the fire in my eyes is of
Pain
Not of passion
That the flush in my cheeks is of
Embarrassment
Not of flattery
And that when I dart away it is because I am
Fleeing
Not waiting for him to chase me. By Am I Really, a poem by Darden Walton