Valerie, 19, Florida, Big heart


Instagram: @valreee


u can still be thug as hell even if you cry everyday right

(Source: bobbyhoying, via xoxobriannakay)


My boyfriend is technically not my responsibility bc we are not married nor do we have a child together or anything. But even so, I still take care of him because I love him to death &I want him to be okay by the end of the day, so I make him my responsibility. But I’m so tired. Like since his accident I’ve went to go see him every single day, bringing him whatever he needs, making him food bc they don’t fucking feed him, etc. When he was at his dad’s, they left him alone at the house A LOT when theyre suppose to be watching him and making sure he doesnt have another attack. His step mom assumed he was okay, even though he tells her everyday that hes not, so she doesn’t really care. They’ll go out to eat and bring food for his step brother but not austin. Like its fucking annoying. And so I took him to his mom’s. Which is fine, its just 45mins away from me. And of course she asks me to take him there even though she was suppose to pick him up. They know I work all week until Saturday. But now no one can take him to his very important doctors appointment bc they’re all “too busy”, so I have to drive over there after work when im tired as shit, wake up early as hell, take him to the appointment, probably wait at least 2hrs, take him to his dads, go to work, and die. Like can I have a break too ;-( I feel like im the only one who really gives a fuck about him :-( and then he was being sorta an asshole to me the last time I saw him &every time I just look at him like RLLY IVE BEEN TAKING CARE OF U EVERY FUCKING DAY and working everyday too pls don’t give me ur sass. I’m just so annoyed. And tired. I want to be home. With my family. Where I’m stress free. Fuck.
I haven’t vented on tumblr in such a long time, I feel better now



"i’m not bitter" i say, bitterly, with a bitter expression

(via this--too--shall--pass)


Kiss my thighs and tell me I’m a princess.

(Source: queer-punk, via loveb0nes)


Making love was never about you and me in a bed. We made love whenever we held hands. Ian Thomas, I Wrote This For You (via bl-ossomed)

(Source: awdray, via this--too--shall--pass)