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i am the brilliance in the spark the originality in your day i am the creativity that pulses through your veins ... but you can call me SaLee
stalker[s] creeping right now
Don’t move, tumblr. This is a stick up. Give me all your notes and nobody gets hurt.
Not so fast sonny boy, drop the SKS and no one will be losing any notes here.
Everybody stay frosty. No one has to close their account today if we all just stay calm.
I’ll waste the lot of you
Hände hoch, bitches. Gib mir alle ihre notizen!
NYET.
3 it is.. let’s get this party started.
Is that 3 nuggets up there? this is getting out of hand lol
I HAVE A GUN BONER.
What? What’s all this fuckery?
Oh shit, it’s a gunblr showdown!
Mama always said this day’d come!
EVERYBODY BE FUCKIN’ COOL!
WOAH Calm down! Guns don’t solve problems.
Weeeeeellllllllll… ok they solve SOME problems, like an attacking spaceship or being chased by a dinosaur, but USUALLY guns don’t solve problems.
There. I’ve disabled them. Now none of your guns work.
Go to your rooms and think about what you’ve done.
Don’t make me tell you again.
Woops! Sorry Doc, but look what I got.
A flintlock pistol, and know what flintlock pistols are mainly composed of?
Wood.
THE MEN OF TUMBLR
(Source: bulletbakas, via mrjoeltan)
(Source: awdray, via nataliemeansnice)
I give your performance a 10…
on the pH scale because that shit was basic as hell
(via moanmika)
I am a prime example of American unacceptability.
I’ve always been too:
Gay
Black
Liberated
Uppity
and America has a time honored tradition of keeping us in our place
Like on November 27, 1978 when Harvey Milk was assassinated.
More like April 4, 1968 when MLK was shot down.
Hold the hell up.
I hope you don’t think some dead gay guy is equivalent to Dr. King.
Milk was a martyr. King is an icon. That is not the same thing.
I think you forgot the definition of civil rights.
You’re not the only one struggling around here.
How could I forget anything when I
look outside my window every day and see the
statistically correct neighborhood I was predicted to live in?
At least they can see you.
All they have to do is look at you to see where you come from
What you’ve been through
I am still fighting for the right to exist
They’re telling my children we should be kept in pens
So we can die out like you quarantine disease
How many times do I have to hear them say
You fucking faggot/nigger
At least you know your last name. Our skin gives away our homeland, but not our home.
You weren’t owned or traded based on how hot you were as a commodity.
We stood stark naked on a platform with the sun heating the skin beneath our shackles.
Watching our life value drain with every increasing bid.
Bent backs, broken bones and tear stained cotton is not something that you can just forget.
My bones are genetically thickened due to the brutality my ancestors bore.
My legacy has been swept under rugs
No one has ever sung me closet spirituals
To lead me to the promised land
Or made me rainbow cake to remind me of where I come from
We are history’s middle children who have to wear glitter to get attention
We are your siblings
We don’t want to replace you on our family tree
We just want a hug at Christmas time
They’re hanging us by our own ropes
For us it’s déjà vu
And I know for you it’s more PTSD
So why are you letting this happen to us?
Changing subjects is the same thing as giving up,
which is basically saying black oppression is no longer an issue.
Would the Klan still run rampant internationally,
waving their rebel flags and cowering beneath their white hoodies
if this shit were no longer an issue?
We were plagued with the elements of prejudice.
Doused with a stream of insults to drown our dignity.
When was the last time someone spat on you
and called you a fly-bitten savage, a worthless monkey;
told you to go back to Africa when we were dragged here by force.
Do you know why they call us faggots?
The only history I have to cling to is that once
I was a fire starter that wasn’t even worth the price of a match
Witches were burned on my ashes
Like I was never good enough to be anything but kindling anyways
You think that your roots run deeper
Just because you couldn’t hear me screaming
doesn’t mean they weren’t raping and beating me
Starving and shocking me
Anything to fix me
I know you’re not talking to me about burning.
Those Carolina glowing orange crosses burned.
Those Alabama ticking church bombs incinerated.
Compare a sprinkle of holy water to skin shredding fire hoses.
I was at Woolworths and Stonewall
But you were to busy turning the other cheek
To ask me if I walked with you
If it was possible that we could share roots
You didn’t want to see me at your rallies
Because it would complicate things
They tell me it was a different time
But you made sure times were changing
You just never looked back for your Aunt Rosie
And her roommate of fifty yearsOur voices were only heard because we screamed.
You didn’t give us a chance to open our mouths.
Can’t you see that they’re trying to kill me.
Trying to kill us.
So why are we waging a war between ourselves when
it’s them who put us on their hit list.We’ve been burned mercilessly.
Lynched ceremoniously.
Ostracized inhumanely.
Beaten brutally.
Lacerated, mutilated.
Segregated. Bluntly hated
By many. By all.
By you.
(via moanmika)
(Source: notclarissa, via nataliemeansnice)
