I don't need you to save me.
Just hold my hand while I save myself.

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do me a favour. if a person wearing a long sleeved shirt or a sweatshirt and jeans on a hot day, don’t comment on it. don’t ask why they’re wearing it. don’t say anything at about it.

trust me, they know it’s hot, they know. but their reason for wearing what they’re wearing probably far outweighs the temperature outside.

"And how hard is it to land even a minimum-wage job? This year, the Ivy League college admissions acceptance rate was 8.9%. Last year, when Walmart opened its first store in Washington, D.C., there were more than 23,000 applications for 600 jobs, which resulted in an acceptance rate of 2.6%, making the big box store about twice as selective as Harvard and five times as choosy as Cornell. Telling unemployed people to get off their couches (or out of the cars they live in or the shelters where they sleep) and get a job makes as much sense as telling them to go study at Harvard."

"Why Don’t the Unemployed Get Off Their Couches?" and Eight Other Critical Questions for Americans 

I think people don’t understand what the unemployment rate means.  It means the number of jobs there ARE compared to the number of people there are looking for jobs.  

People seem to somehow think that the unemployment rate is the number of people sitting around unemployed, as if there are thousands of companies with open positions and since the unemployed people all keep sitting on their butts, those companies are just somehow getting by without filling those positions????

The unemployment rate is the number of people who will be left over after all of the available jobs are filled.  

It’s the number of people who are going to be wasting all of their waking hours each week looking for jobs that don’t exist.

(via magicvag)


“Lately I have been shrinking back and reducing in size
to wrap around myself like a cocoon
and it has not been hard because
the inside of me was already caving in your wake.

Have you forgotten that
I handed you my heart with my bare hands
all because you asked gently for it.
And even though you held it up to your veins
just to watch it pulse
you returned it to me much lesser than whole
and it is still lying on the breaks in my palms because
it doesn’t quite belong in my chest anymore.

I am still coming to terms with your half-hearted promises
and your hallowed-out truths
but they are running like water through my hands
because they never dripped with the honesty I felt in them.

I was happy to leave the places where your ghost lingered,
though I wish I did not have to hear your name being spoken.
It only sounds like ringing in my ears
and not like the beautiful song it used to.

I hate that I miss sitting in your passenger seat when you would
look away from the road just to smile at me
and say things like
“I want to hold your hand.”
You swallowed back any mention of how long
and let your change of plans slip under your tongue
before you let it out like a hurricane.
and receded from me like the waves
leaving me to sink and rot
in the seas you left behind.

But you have not come searching for the shipwreck you have caused.

Forgive me,
but you will not hear me ask for an apology
because of the time you held my shivering limbs close
and said you were sorry that you couldn’t keep me warmer.
Well I am too.
I am too.
I am too.

Forgive my silence,
but I will not sing to the sound of your lost love anymore.
No, I will not.
I will not.
I will not.”


-MHI Will Sail Again
(via uglyswe4ters)