I’ve realized my problem. The guys of my race, Asians, prefer girls who conform and aren’t very rebellious. And so I’ve avoided liking or being attracted to Asian guys. I’m not saying that they’re not good enough for me; i’m saying that I don’t fit their expectations. You could say I’m generalizing, but what choice do I have when that’s all I’ve been exposed to? Since I’ve avoided Asian guys for my sake, I’ve moved onto other races. However, here’s the main point: they prefer the same kind of girls. Where does that leave me? Asian boys who prefer non-Asians with gorgeous bodies leave me nowhere to go either. Same goes for non-Asians who want a i’mport-model type of Asian. Sigh. I’m stuck in this between and the walls are closing up fast. There’s nowhere to go. 



What if verbal abuse left the same scars as physical abuse? Would it be taken more seriously? That’s what photographer Richard Johnson hopes to accomplish with his new photo project, “Weapons of Choice.”

The series uses a makeup artist to put bruises and scars on photo subjects. Embedded in these violent marks are some hateful words typically associated with abuse, such as “Stupid,” “Dumb,” “Trash” and others that are much, much worse.

What if verbal abuse left the same scars as physical abuse

I’ve been waiting for a post like this.

What You Need — The Weeknd

The Weeknd → What You Need

I just want to take you there
He don’t got to know where
Does he touch you here like this?
Let me take the friction from your lips


I awoke with the heart ripe with poetry.

"My mother doesn’t like tattoos. She says art belongs on a wall. Well I say no one, not even my mother gets to tell me I can’t be a masterpiece."
— Hannah Snowdon (via beautifult0me)
"God called me Fish Heart. Lily Mouth. I was an evening sort of girl. He liked me better ripped up, bar bathrooms, bar peanuts, skip the small talk. We’re both Adam. We’re both Eve. In the mornings, swallowing bait, swallowing nails, pulling apart the microwave, two forks and an empty socket. Baby, there is always a limit. Hours spent rubbing my belly, waiting for watermelon trees, or orange bushes, or flowers heavy with green apples. And now, this is what I can dissect: his fingers in the gut of the fish, his fingers in the core of the flower, always pulling. Like it wasn’t enough to feel, like He had to see, to know."

burglar of the mind: depression

sometimes i begin to feel as if
my soul accidentally got caught on
someone else’s sleeve and
I was left behind, robbed of any reason to live.

Get Your Poems on Button Poetry!


Only SIX MORE DAYS to submit your poems to Button Poetry’s annual chapbook contest! Winner receives a $500 cash prize, 50 free copies, and roundtrip travel to Minnesota for a book release party, filmed by Button. Note: ALL FINALISTS FROM THE CONTEST will be invited to perform and be filmed at a Button show. Don’t miss out, and make sure to like and reblog to spread the word!


i wish i had more money to buy more books :/