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My name is Kelsea. I never know what to write about myself.




suckmybitch:

sarah-belham:
"The Favorite" by Omar Rayyan

19 September 2014     12:00 pm     266,393 notes

suckmybitch:

sarah-belham:

"The Favorite" by Omar Rayyan

(Source: atomicgardens, via sorryr)


lavandula:
detail of ophelia by john everett millais

14 September 2014     12:00 pm     6,103 notes

lavandula:

detail of ophelia by john everett millais

(via lunarphobia-deactivated20140925)

13 September 2014     12:00 pm     2,095 notes

nevver:

Dinnerware

(Source: laphilie.com, via goldenwallen)

adessive:

Be Born Again, Dr. Kim

12 September 2014     12:00 pm     78,083 notes

adessive:

Be Born Again, Dr. Kim

(via blackmormon)


Slugs

11 September 2014     12:00 pm     652 notes

Slugs

(via viage)

28 August 2014     12:00 pm     311,355 notes

(Source: franfrancatman, via sorryr)

humansofnewyork:

"What happened to your arm?""I was walking down the stairs and looking at the stars."(Amman, Jordan)

12 August 2014     5:39 pm     9,192 notes

humansofnewyork:

"What happened to your arm?"
"I was walking down the stairs and looking at the stars."
(Amman, Jordan)

nevver:

Mob

12 August 2014     12:00 pm     1,446 notes

nevver:

Mob

11 August 2014     9:53 pm     566,785 notes

(Source: wallflowerbloom, via woodland-euphoria)

theonion:

Hospital Comforts Patients With New Therapy Oyster Program

11 August 2014     3:49 pm     642 notes

theonion:

Hospital Comforts Patients With New Therapy Oyster Program

11 August 2014     3:07 pm     197,321 notes

coolvintagesoul:

I hope this sinks in your hearts.

(via kyliejennerstyleguides)

After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.

Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
Did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?

The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.

She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,

Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.

Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
Questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.

And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,

With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.

Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.

Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be.  (via oliviacirce)

(via frizzyheaded)

August 2014     2:40 pm     231,929 notes

 black sesame ice cream

08 August 2014     12:00 pm     4,204 notes

black sesame ice cream

(Source: techspec, via viage)

07 August 2014     10:18 pm     23,797 notes

(via beavisandsluthead)

browngirlblues:

Women against feminism are basically just arguing that their individual lives are fine and they don’t care about what other women go through

(via blackmormon)

02 August 2014     1:37 am     93,768 notes

s.t.