Your fists are’t made of
glass and bloody noses
for no reason.
You walk like a ghost
through the streets of Brooklyn
with change in your pockets
that you don’t give to the homeless.
You wear your heart on your sleeve
because you like them to know that
you’ve been to hell and back
and are not afraid
of guns pointed straight at you
or knives aimed at your back.
You’re a fighter,
a damn good one at that.
You are battle wound
that you wear proudly,
a walking piece of flesh
that has been torn open
and stitched back together
more times than you can count
and you’re okay with that.
You’re okay with walking through walls
and talking to whiskey bottles
when the moon is out
and you don’t mind that
when they see you on the street
they say, “That’s him.
He’s the one that life beat.” He’s The One // heartofthebitter-mindofapoet (via heartofthebitter-mindofapoet)
58 notes
  • my math teacher: *pulls out dollar bill* how much is this worth?
  • Students: $1
  • teacher: *folds bill in half* how much is this worth now?
  • students: $1
  • teacher: *folds bill in half again* how much is it worth now?
  • students: $1
  • teacher: what about if I crumple it up and throw it on the ground? Will someone pass by it and say, "Ooh, a dollar, but I won't pick it up because it's all crumpled and dirty"?
  • students: No, because it's still worth a dollar.
  • teacher: Exactly. No matter how much a human goes through or how much they do, they're still worth the life of a human.
30,071 notes
I’m a very private person. You don’t ask, I don’t tell. unknown (via missdontcare-x)

(Source: loveless-people, via luvyourmane)

2,146 notes