“i don’t work at being ordinary.” // p. mccartney
there’s a neon pink streak that runs right through me – it shares a lane with the powder-puff that resides inside of me that wells up in tears at minimum, twice a day. beneath the black liquorice veneer, i am a doughy marshmallow middle. squish me, and do i not bleed?
i am that very same person who relishes tip to toe black and would never sneer at a good pair of shit-kicking boots – that will also mew over the overtly kawaii – the pudgy penguins, the sad puppies and the anthropomorphized slices of toast that come holding hands with a carton of milk, blinking up at me with the largest of black eyes – set somewhere between shedding a tear and intense devotion.
i am the very embodiment of plato’s symposium, (people tell me alllll the time), i am one – trying to resolve two sides of myself. or, more to the point – like everyone else, i have a collection of whims that some might think are unexpected; but really, are just rather sweetly ordinary.
➝ source : morrissey lapel pin via sad truth supply
➝ source : hooray tote via ban.dō
➝ source : myself pennant via adam jk