yo, that's wack if i'm not the baddest


profile * old * mail * fucking sign it* or how about a nice note? you go forward / i'll go backwards


when my boy rides his motorcycle with my skinny cut up arms wrapped around his soft stomach and the smell of leather in my nose and scratched up plastic helmet shield in front of my eyes, when he looks back to see if i'm okay and i nod and squeeze tighter and his legs push the pedals and we move and we move.
d-land