MARY OLIVER

this speced course is making me want to minor in special education so that i can do it Right

me when a poem says something that i have the possibility of feeling

me. me when a poem says something ive felt before

These 🌹💐🌹💐💐🌸🌺🌹🌺🌷🌸💐🌺🌹🍫🌹💐🍫🍫🌹🌺🌸🌷🍫💐🌸💐🌺🌹🍫🌷🌷🌺🌸🌷🌺🌸🌺🌹🌹🌹🌷🌺🌺🌸🌺🌹🌹🌷💐🌸💐💐🌺🌹🌸💐🌸🌹🍫🍫🌺🌷🌹🍫🍫🍫 💐🌷r for my mutuals on this valentines day <3

i’ll be honest i still fan girl over my own mutuals

“I’m an evil, mean lesbian” says the very fragile, sensitive lesbian

reblog if you have a constant need for attention!

(please reblog I need the attention)

i don’t flirt i just say weird shit until you tell me i’m pretty & wanna kiss me

hmm. maybe u were put on this earth to make art and write bad poetry and create silly little playlists and being kind and maybe tearing up a little bit when you see old people eating alone

WHY IS PAINTING FUR SO ARGHDHGJFJ

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry for me has the same kind of tender mysticism people associate with Vincent Van Gogh

One a writer that draws, and the other a painter that writes; both sharing the ideal of finding joy and love in the little things - joy tainted with melancholy, often, but joy nonetheless - and love. So much of it.

And both men gone too soon.

Vincent's paintings still have an impact on people, as do his letters. Antoine's writing still touches many, as do his doodles.

I can picture The Little Prince in The Wheat Fields