@2 months ago with 23336 notes

runcowboyrun:

"You Can Call Me Al" Paul Simon

@2 months ago with 1 note

(Source: Spotify)

@5 months ago with 1 note
#music #spotify #elvis perkins #it's only me 
@5 months ago with 7 notes
#have a day 

(Source: Spotify)

@5 months ago
#music #spotify 
vintagebrides:

1959 newlyweds Irene and Robert  New York, New York

vintagebrides:

1959 newlyweds Irene and Robert
New York, New York

(via thefieldmice)

@2 months ago with 2054 notes

A Cheesecake Factory Poem

There once was a woman who looked like a toad
Who came to The Factory to eat
She got an egg-roll
Claiming an aversion to meat
She ate her full,
claiming her goal
Leaving 15% as a treat
She stood to stroll
And bounced her fat ass back down the street

@3 months ago with 1 note
#The Cheesecake Factory #poem #I am so creative #also probably hate you 
Just cooking eggs and vegetarian maple flavored sausage patties while drinking wine at 1 in the morning. You know, just essential things.

Just cooking eggs and vegetarian maple flavored sausage patties while drinking wine at 1 in the morning. You know, just essential things.

@5 months ago with 2 notes
#breakfast #night #after midnight #cooking #eggs #wine 
@5 months ago with 10 notes
#detroit #michigan #movie theater #abandoned 

"Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day."

Kait Rokowski, “A Good Day” (via oofpoetry)

(via sogoodyeah)

@5 months ago with 2565 notes