There’s something about the way you bow your head when you walk from class to class that makes you hard to spot-

there are kids wearing bright colors while you blend into sidewalks and locker-walled hallways,

kids who shout across rooms to their friends, barely even noticing that they’re on their toes to see over you.

I see you.

You and your whisper-soled sneakers, you and your arriving sixth to class,

not so early that people think you’re eager but not so late that people give you funny looks when you walk in after everyone else is seated.

I wonder if the teacher ever reads your essay out loud.

I wonder if the boy who sat in front of you in homeroom for two years knows your name.

When you walk home from school, you watch your feet. I’m sure you’ve noticed that you’re walking in a rut made by footsteps of someone else who took the long way home too. Those are my footsteps.

I was invisible too, once-

clear as fine glass, hardly catching light on my edges, and just as easy to break.

I used to count the empty desks in classrooms and include my own.

I didn’t sleep at night because sleeping meant missing the only quiet I could ever preserve.

I didn’t eat during the day because when you eat alone you always feel like there’s someone watching you and when no one sees you in the first place you’re always alone. We live in a system of feedback inhibition.

Invisible child, you’re allowed to wear shoes that click against the floor when you walk just for the joy of knowing you’re making the atmosphere vibrate.

Invisible child, remember that your desk chair is full. You are sitting in it.

Invisible child, I am you except my voice has grown stronger from use and when I walk home, I watch the sky instead of my feet because I like the way the clouds change. Neither of us are made from glass, as I thought I was and you think you are- we are blood and bone and skin and we have minds to think with and mouths to speak with and bodies that no one can see through.

Invisible child, I see you.


a letter to invisible children (-r.z.)

ugly:

themanwithfrozenhearts:

im a really affectionate person once you get past my 5 layers of shyness, awkwardness, fear, vague dislike, and loneliness

 


kingsleyofficial:

mycrazyfunnyheart:

optimus—primette:

regretnothingalways:

sasstrid-and-dorkcup:

madehimsaycomfychairs:

floacist:

iwishitwas1983:

I’m crying.

LMAOOOOOOOOO the screaming in the beginning

"mr. owl"
"oh jesus christ"
"please don’t give me that look"
"please don’t fly"

DYING omg

That owl is 30000000% done

every time this video graces me with its presence i feel obliged to reblog it

But how/why did the owl even get in his house?

I love his angry owl eyebrows and how he bends over a little like look you little shit you’re next

THAT WAS INTENSE AS FUCK

(Source: becausebirds)


bassteel:

In which Dan Smith laughs and leans forward, part II


funkies:

I want to be nicole richie when I grow up. 

(Source: genarowlands)


faithcomeshope:

teamheya:

'Girl picking up girls'

everyone needs to watch this!

This is great.

(Source: les-bro)

It doesn’t matter if it’s a relationship, a lifestyle, or a job. If it doesn’t make you happy let it go.
William Chapman (via mrsclarkkent)

(Source: williamchapmanwritings)


beyonce-mitosis:

kozmial:

OMG everyone stop what you are doing and watch this guy draw dotted lines i’m p e e i n g

is this man okay