Stop Worrying About The World Ending Today. It’s Already Tomorrow In Australia.

I have been here and walked along the river. Beautiful city!!

Bern, Switzerland (by Nomadic Vision Photography)

Oscar Wilde said that if you know what you want to be, then you inevitably become it - that is your punishment, but if you never know, then you can be anything. There is a truth to that. We are not nouns, we are verbs. I am not a thing - an actor, a writer - I am a person who does things - I write, I act - and I never know what I am going to do next. I think you can be imprisoned if you think of yourself as a noun.

Stephen Fry (via wordsnquotes)

Truth!! Just be you, the constantly changing you!

I don’t want perfect, I want honest.

Unknown (via wordsnquotes)

#honesty

Do not pass me off as a delicate flower. I’ve bled like you. I’ve scrapped the skin on my knees and ripped the seams of my fingertips like any other man. And just as a man, I’ve ached in my bones and forged fury from my person. I am as delicate as a flower with prickly thorns.

splenduit (via wnq-writers)

I missed your presence the same way I missed that picture on my wall. Something just wasn’t right about that nail sticking out of the wall, nothing hanging from it. Sometimes I forgot about it, but whenever I looked at that nail I used to feel the heavy absence of what was once there. Until another picture took its place.

i-write-to-voice-my-demons, The Missing Picture  (via wordsnquotes)

Promise

"When the dark is all around you And the night is closing in, I will be beside you, To save you from within.

When the light outside is blinding And shows up all your scars, I will be the portrait, To show them who you are.

When the wind outside is howling And threatens to break you down, I will be the anchor, To keep you in the calm.

When everything is failing And you don’t know where you are, I will be the compass, To lead you safe from harm.”

-Dan

Banksy’s response to the Charlie Hebdo murders 

via

I know you don’t exactly have a way with words that you couldn’t possibly understand the storm that washed the thoughts from my mind or the distraction of worrying about my cheeks blushing when you lean in to whisper when there is no one within earshot i can’t possibly express on paper that feeling of taking a breath, of the moment in suspension right before you lose your balance that burns within my stomach when I catch you looking at me like that without warning there are so many words in the english language and no matter how many times I describe the warmth of your fingers or the fluster of nothing on my lips i cannot fathom us into poetry i am a poet and you do not make sense to me I cannot describe you as a blooming flower, unfurling to reveal the deepest parts of yourself because you would only laugh at that I cannot describe you in hyperboles or words or metaphors and I am a poet so that makes me want to scream my throat raw and rip apart the paper and words that flood from my fingertips messily that is the only way i can describe us and somewhat feel satisfied in the way I always seek satisfaction in words to write poetry about us is to write in a dead language to write poetry about us is the frustration in watching you expose the bruises on your jaw and cling onto your dignity while you whisper how reckless you’ve been into my shoulder I cannot bandage your pride; I cannot compose you into a sonnet I can write every delicate detail of drowning in a golden clawed bathtub or sitting in sunlight with flowers woven behind my ears but the truth is that each image i conjure isn’t simple enough because we are not an epic simile and your hands are not actually fire burning at my cheeks they are just hands I can write about myself I can condense myself into a neat placement of words but you I cannot describe you even if I spoke in hieroglyphics or braille I was once told that despite how beautiful, language is flawed And I did not believe that one bit Until you looked at me with an expression That I could not find a metaphor for you are strictly tangible, only flesh and crooked front teeth and that is why my heart will soon fracture for I can either write us onto paper or I can silently love you

ochredeity, ”To the boy I love”  (via wordsnquotes)

Words cannot describe.

#jesuischarlie

People in Paris raise pens during rally in support of Charlie Hebdo attack victims #JeSuisCharlie

via

Beauty can be found everywhere.

We were honored to help Jordanians and Syrian refugees breakthrough conflict and come together to build this beautiful new girls’ school in Za’atari Village.