my fingers have nick 'o-teen stains. my stomach refuses to digest any exploitations. my mind is a broken metronome. my skin hates (ethnic) cleansing. my fists are always ready to (right) fight... but my heart constantly see(k)s connection with any/every other beating mechanism. my mouth will forever be screaming to dreaming ear drums, while my body awaits a-wake-ning... (but... if poetic introductions don't do it for you: female, 22, freegan, photographer, writer, activist, polyamorous, vagabond, pisces, contradictory, etc.) ask me anything...

ask me i wont say no, how could i? Archive

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