We started as seeds held in packets till we were brought and sold for tiny at times no prices

Some of us were sown in fertile ground and allowed the freedom to grow

Others of us were sprayed with things abused and malnourished raped and decieved

Those who were chosen at first felt lucky till the brutality took hold and they were forced into slavery

Some were more beautiful and yet they too were raped and bore seeds who were scorned and bullied into self hatred

Some escaped or where never stolen they continued to live in harmony yet great sadness overcame them

For their families were torn apart seeds left deserted in what became war torn lands of confusion

The seeds had voices oh how they sung out of frustration hymns to calm there senses

To maintain some sort of diginity they sung to never forget there mother tongues to never forget where they came from

Though over time the packets in once they had come from disappeared melted by the burning sensations of there lost lives

For you see seeds can never really grow if they are not given love and compassion

mackenentertainment:

Azari & III - Reckless (With Your Love)

rhythmic-clicking:

Azari & III - Reckless (With Your Love) Official Video (by AzariandiiiOfficial)

So big in Paris.

We never stopped being stars 

Even when my illness threatened to destroy us

I screamed and spat at you told you to leave

Kicked and punched you and hide behind my scowling expression

I needed you but I was so caught up in my anger at this thing this poision

That crept up on me like a theif in the night and stole me 

Broke me

I didnt want you to watch me die

Cancer she said and i refused your gaze

There are things we can do we can help you

I felt your eyes pulling me asking me to turn around to face you and I couldnt

I lost myself inside those seconds when she repeated it as if I hadnt heard

Cancer

I walked out of the room and ran to the bathroom locked the door and sat on the floor 

And begged it to swallow me whole

Oh I begged and I begged and you knocked and I screamed leave me alone

You stopped knocking then came back and shoved letters and leaflets and it was all too much I was simply too young

27 years old with the world at my feet

Though you too had the world at your feet

So caught up in my pride I begged you to leave

I continued to spit and kick, and abuse you, deny you my love

Because denying you meant maybe I could wallow in my own self pity

You didnt leave not when I changed the locks and burnt all your stuff

When my hair started to leave you told me i was beautiful

Even when I couldnt catch your eyes

You sent flowers everyday

You loved me unconditionally

And despite my distaste we beat this thing you and I

So thank you

Once upon a time we were young and wild

Ran all the little boys off the school yard

and they clambered to their feet, 

Trying to keep up with our beat

We were just to fast, 

said we´d hook up with them after class

melissadams:

mid evening nap; setting sun in Madrid

meninthistown:

Dr. Martens.

His distaste for me was obvious, or rather his distaste for the situation. A situation where his option for choice was withdrawn, for he was the child, me the nanny his parents the career types who added a child to their mix up just because it seemed the right thing to do. 

His eyes were almost vacant when peering at me, almost through me, as if he wished i was not there. I guess for the most part I wasnt, not there as in mind only the physical sense, for nannying was not what I wanted to do. I sort of fell into it. My mother was a nanny once, before the sickness took its toll, before her days blended into one and I the child became non existent. 

I hated my mother, hated her job, hated her whole being as a child if you had asked me would i end up like my mother I would have looked at you blankly as if to say what  the fuck do you take me for. And yet there I was standing in this hallway greeting this child with a fake smile and promising to be the best. As if i even understood what to be the best meant. 

His mother was a lawyer, father an architect, they had no time for children, and yet they had a child, who in his longing looks was searching for some kind of love. The sort of love that holds no price tags, that doesnt come wrapped up in the newest video game or stained on new clothes, the kind of love that exists not forced, but as a natural process, the kind of love we like to think we are all capable of. 

They were hard nosed people, the kind that didnt smile, rarely laughed, and almost moved in constant robotic movements. I never heard them say I love you, not even too each other, I´d arrive in the morning and it was like I didint exist no warm hello, how was your evening just orders barked at me, or a piece of paper with half assed writing screaming sentences of orders and I don´t know if I preferred them talking to me or writing, either way it was most impersonal. 

John was quiet, often withdrawn. In the beginning he barely said anything, just pointed and at first maybe I thought he was deaf or disabled the poor child was starved of love. 

funkyforme:

NYC

fashion-daddy-issues:

Lisa T.

i really love lisa for her ability to put together wildly cool looks. her handmade jackets are true works of art. the detail in them is insane. when i was chatting with lisa today i couldn’t help staring at all of the little curiosities on this jacket. especially a tooth that she had sewn on to the front. she added a whole lot of colour and warmth to a cold canberra day.

note to those posting on tumblr street fashion is not photos of people leaving fashion shows or attending them, it is not photos of done up models and perfected looks, its raw and exhilrating, its underground and not hipsterish or anything like that,its thrown together or this is simply how i felt so i dressed how i felt, for me not for anybody else

I am currently channeling that nothing comes easy look 

that hard done by thought i´d be retro came out looking like the last thing on the rail, not for sale

kind of look

you know the try hard, want to be done hang around

End up being somewhat distasteful

Bed hair and eyes and oh my look is so divine NOT

yesterday or maybe last week remnants of waterproof mascara

I´m not a make up person so i chose blindly of what was in what was right

not right though right in my eye it crumbles and i feel blind

Tried and failed to wash the eyes, make up remover yeah i passed that aisle

Slipped by not even a glance

yet they glance at my disarray on that morning metro

walk of shame we have all done it

stale smell of cigarette and beer

and stamps from clubs i have no recollection

The old ladies they frown and those in suits attempt to divert there eyes oh how they try

and yet they can´t help but peer from book pages and ipads and this must be the longest journey ever

and there comes a guy slightly divine

though my morning breathe stops me from trying to say hi

or smile or strike up a conversation i catch my reflection

well i´ll be damned don´t i look a fucking sight

Sight for sore eyes

my sore eyes

and then the stop and im stumbling and slipping out doors, walking down lonesome streets

reaching in my bag fondling around for my keys

flashbacks of last night i think maybe i was fondling

or someone was fondling me either way

I´m hoping no flashes were in sight

I´m camera shy at best and at my worst my smile is no ad for colgate

hellohellodothu:

Paris

(via noxidnaihr)

I am a motherless child, yes i fell from a womb

Though I have since been encaged in a tomb