Live. Laugh. Love.

“So many students have said, trans students have said; now I can have a point of reference when I talk about who I am. My friends are like, ‘Oh, like Sophia from ‘Orange is the New Black?’’ and they’re like, ‘yeah,’ and then they just move on and it’s not an issue,” she said. “I got a letter from a young, from a trans youth’s mother who said that he transitioned because of me and because of seeing me on the show it gave him the courage to talk to his parents about who he was and they’re supportive and loving and now he’s started his transition. It’s insane. It’s really beautiful.”

Laverne Cox on the impact of her character Sophia Burset (via comebreakmedown-buryme)


(via thaxted)


(via cameronisagirlsnametoo)

(via kaeandlucy)

“I’ve learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow. I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights. I’ve learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you’ll miss them when they’re gone from your life. I’ve learned that making a “living” is not the same thing as making a “life.” I’ve learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance. I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back. I’ve learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision. I’ve learned that even when I have pains, I don’t have to be one. I’ve learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back. I’ve learned that I still have a lot to learn. I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
— Maya Angelou (via cold-winter-days)

(Source: larmoyante, via cold-winter-days)

I’m five foot four inches of loving everyone around me more than myself. I was born on August 31st, 1994, and at 30 seconds old I tore the tubes out of my mouth like a promise to my parents that I would always be a fighter.

Now I’m an advanced practitioner in self-defense; I have my mom’s eyes and my dad’s everything else; and the only thing they have in common with one another is not having the capacity to love me any harder. I’m a self-employed comedian. Ask me anything about anything and I’m pretty sure I could make it inappropriate or, inappropriate.

My favorite music is acoustic. It’s soft and honest, a lot like who I want to be. I think a lot about who I want to be and how I want to love, and what echo I want to resonate after someone says my name in a quiet room. Two years ago, I was diagnosed with a seemingly perpetual sadness that never accompanies me and accomplishment in the same thought. You will often find me in quiet rooms. And in mine, my bed settled with four pillows trying to soften the illusion that I won’t fall asleep by myself that night.

See, I’m a hopeless romantic and a remarkable athlete until a pretty girl with a nice smile walks by and I trip over my exhales trying to find the courage to say hello.

But I bet you I could make her laugh once I start talking.

So hi, I’m Valentina. I’m a lion-hearted depressive with short blonde hair and a weakness for hot chocolate and good books on rainy days. Many people say I’m one of the best huggers they’ve ever met. I love avocado, and seasoned shrimp, and I will be up every Friday night at 1:00am writing to subtilize the restlessness within me.

I will love you in a language you might not understand; please know that variance doesn’t measure weight. I’m 128lbs of waiting for someone to come along and tell me that I try hard enough, that I’m good enough, that I’m enough and all they need. I’m an unfinished poem, and a lover, and a fighter: stubbornly and steadily trying to convince myself that I’m all I’ll ever need.

"My Autobiographical Poem (1/__)" -Valentina Thompson (via theseoverusedwords)

(via backshelfpoet)

You plead not guilty to all charges again.
You forget that most of last year is still rotten in my mouth.
You forget I can still taste the chalk outlines
under my tongue in the mornings.
You forget that the caution tape still hangs across my bed
like a warning for anyone trying to save me.
You forget that crime scenes and home
smell the same to me these days.
Like smoke. Like metal. Like empty.

Your mouth is the burial ground and the battle field.
Most war zones avoid being loved
but these lips remember your bloody kind of sacred.
Your teeth are tombstones with the names unreadable.
Your teeth are tombstones with the dates scratched out.

You morphed my voice into a leaking faucet.
You pushed me into rooms with no way out.
You led me to corners with music boxes
that only played your name.
You strung together cobwebs and
shadows that whispered like you.
Like please and more and yes.
Like kiss me and don’t and again.

There aren’t as many ways to forget someone
as you think there are.
So I set my house on fire
until your footsteps are only smoke and charcoal.
So I almost forget not to stay as it burns.
So I stop picking up the phone.
So I leave town and change my name
and learn not to talk about the mistakes
I fell in love with.
About the monster I fed with my own skin.

Crime Scenes & Left Over Love Affairs | Yasmin & Ramna (via inkywings)

(via rustyvoices)


It genuinely baffles me when people ask, ‘how do you have time to read?’ because let me put it this way; how do you have time to hang out with friends, watch tv, go to parties, study until the break of dawn and then spend time with the family?

The answer’s pretty obvious. You make time. 

Because if it’s something you enjoy doing or something you have to do, you’ll find a way to get around that there’s only 24-hours-in-a-day-thing.

Trust me.

(via kartrashyian)



(Source: samdesantis, via kaeandlucy)

“You always thought your hands
were bridges falling apart during an earthquake.
That every time you reach for someone’s sternum
they fall off and you end up kissing your nail-polished toes,
wishing it would stay unshakable, water proof.
I’m sorry, your capacity underwater is a minute and a half
but you said your lungs can spend every second,
with your mouth of how much you love him
even if your clothes are drenched from all the lies and saltiness of his tongue.
Even if a candle is begging you to look a little farther away,
and see that you are worth the sun.
That the conglomeration of things that floats under bridges
envy you for being close to the heavens
because you can hold the burning in your hands. You, my darling,
you are every droplet of water from your tattered dress,
if you just learn how to walk away from the shoreline. Just try.
Leave him back to the island were your hands knew more fingers than your own,
and remind your arms how to hold your body for awhile.
If the water from your sink had the sands washed away,
the very air knocked out of your lungs will come back.
Wipe the fog deep into your skin.
Reach out with your fingers.
You are not the earthquake in “I’m sorry’s” and drenched mascaras,
you might be broken because you floated away but so did the ocean.”
Kharla M. Brillo, You always thought your hands could not save you.  (via pouvoires)

(via pouvoires)

“I am excited to see a generation of women who will raise their boys to be good rather than their girls to be scared.”
Date By Numbers  (via masturbationdestination)

(Source: godo2point0, via cold-winter-days)

I would take out every band-aid of every girl who has purple skins and have the one given to them by their mothers wrapped around them like a lover. They will walk down the street without bite marks and five-packs cigarette smells.

I would knock on every door who has a child with his hands around his ears just to cover up the fire-truck silence between his parents’ throat. I will tell him that it is not his fault if they no longer share the same toothbrush. They just forgot to tell him that.

If a girl with a set of broken fingernails misses out one of her classes because the boy she liked forced her stripped down all her price tag clothes, I will put up the definition of No on the black board and explain to him that it does not mean Maybe and not even close to mean Yes.

Whenever a boy comes home with his sleeves inside his mouth, I would take it out and tell him that the janitor closet is not a place for someone as beautiful as him and his body is not a folding table. For once in his life, I would teach him how to throw a punch because his father never did.

I would put up a suicide phone call hotline and listen to every rugged sigh and static until I hear a breathing that is more than life. I will not tell them to stop saying sorry. Not until they realize that they are saying it to themselves.

Kharla M. BrilloIf I could be a superhero, I won’t be wearing a cape. (via pouvoires)

(via pouvoires)

“You’re so tall when you’re
standing on everyone’s back like that.
Every heart has turned into a siren,
every skull has filled with train tracks
and the daydreams riding them,
trying to get away from a place like this.
You finally have the loudest voice here,
but your language is so dirty
that no one else even wants to speak it.”
— Y.Z, the tyrant’s fury (via rustyvoices)
“You’re not a teenage girl but you feel the heat rising off these boys. Their eyes when you enter the classroom: lowered flame; the body curves. And when you lean across a desk to whisper good, you smell their necks. That animal distancing itself—but not too far; still innocent. The sharp cologne they wear says men to you, says: almost men. You think they have doused themselves for your sake; you straighten, swoon at their intent. At any moment they could strike the match of touch, they are that close. Boys, you tell yourself, they’re only boys. And toss your head. You’re thinking of wild horses, how the world will murder them.”
— Cecilia Woloch, Los Niños (via notebookings)

(Source: apoetreflects, via backshelfpoet)

“Here were openly gay girls, of similar age to me, speaking freely about topics I cared about (sushi, cats and careers being just some of them), and they made me feel that being a feminine-looking gay girl was the most natural thing in the world. No musician, no celebrity or TV plot had ever managed to do that before” - Diva Magazine
 {Buy Your Digital Copy of DIVA Here}{Subscribe to Kaelyn & Lucy Here}

“Here were openly gay girls, of similar age to me, speaking freely about topics I cared about (sushi, cats and careers being just some of them), and they made me feel that being a feminine-looking gay girl was the most natural thing in the world. No musician, no celebrity or TV plot had ever managed to do that before” - Diva Magazine

{Buy Your Digital Copy of DIVA Here}
{Subscribe to Kaelyn & Lucy Here}

(Source: youdeserveadrunkyoutuber, via kaeandlucy)