There is literally only one post on this entire site with 11 million notes

ruinedchildhood:

image

(Source: inthemidstofmonsters, via zarryhoraan)


artvevo:

sick pic of us killin it
praxis89:

Orange in his Hand
I see two men sweat at the exit of the freeway.
One is brown and burnt from the sun rays the other is white with an American Flag stitched across his trucker hat.
They both wear dirty clothes. They both burn  to hold a little green.
One sells oranges, walking up and down the street.  One holds a sign that reads, “I’m hungry, help me eat.” I feel for both of them, but I only admire one.
The one who hands oranges in bags to tired faces, who chases cars for his change, who counts pennies as profit to keep his apartment.
The one whose wife wakes before sunrise to walk through Los Angeles streets yelling “tamales, tamales” with a 4 year old daughter  at her side.
The mother who crossed over 4 years earlier so her daughter wouldn’t have to sell tamales with a baby at her side.
The father tells his son never to beg, but to work hard for the bread. So the son sells Cheetos at his high school and gets called beaner for not owning  named brand clothes. A son who must bring dollars before good grades because rent is two weeks late. A son who will one day hold  a gun to the head of a liquor store clerk, only to remember  his father’s words.
Mijo, work hard for the bread.
Rent is two weeks late  so the family breaks tax laws to make jobs and they lifts roses to the sky hoping someone passing by is falling in love again, so the family takes elotes to the neighborhood projects hoping the ninos are hungry.
The news says this family is here to take my job,  my seat in school,  my country, but the only thing they’re taking  is the risk of being handcuffed, broken and deported in the name of family in the name of love in the name of trying  everything to stay above the current and that is why I can’t help
But to admire the man with an orange in his hand, a fireball of hunger in his palm.