HI I'm Alicia And This Is My Tumblr. November 25th Is The Big Day, My Passion Is Dance And My Family is My Life. I Love My Friends, They Help Me Through Everything.

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It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.


- It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)

(via bohemian-vibes)

"I am grade 12 student who has just recently graduated. You might call me accomplished, and in a way, I am, but not in the way you’d think. 12 years of pouring over text books and being lined up to be judged in front of my peers has not made me any more intelligent. I can tell you the first 45 digits of Pi and I can explain to you the difference between an acid and a base, I can recite the Pythagorean Theorem in my sleep, I will recite lines out of a textbook like they are a religion. But I cannot tell you the value of security, or of kindness. The distinct contrast between personal health and personal gain. I can tell you in grade 10 four of my classmates attempted to take their own lives before finals. I can tell you our counsellors office is always booked. I can tell you how when I didn’t understand something in AP Chemistry my teacher asked me to leave if I could not participate in his class. I merely asked him to explain a question. Instead of doing his job and teaching, he told me to leave. Told me I was not good enough to be there. Mistakes are viewed as failure in these hallways. A wrong answer is a sin you must atone to, not a human error, but a flaw so grand it defines your entire life course. There is no “average” here. We all must exceed expectations. Do your parents know that a grade that is considered average is a “C”? When I got a C in fourth grade my parents grounded me for a month. They said I was lazy and stupid and incompetent and that I’d better smarten up and stop fooling around. I never fooled around. I am driven by a deep need to impress others. I never fool around. I worked and worked and worked, with a deep hollow of anxiety in my chest. I have never been good at History, but I worked and worked and I attained at best a low B. It was not good enough. It is not said but we are expected to put our education before our personal health. It is not asked of us, but it is what we must do to achieve what we are asked to achieve. Our teachers will tell you, “Oh, I only give them one hour of homework each night.” Which is essentially true, each of my five teachers only gives me one to two hours of homework each night. Hmm, that adds up to 5-10 hours of homework, and overdue classwork, and projects. Say goodbye to sleep, say goodbye to feeling calm. I’ve developed a deep rooted anxiety disorder due to school and perfectionistic tendencies. Even when you get 100 percent on an assignment they still criticise you, it is never good enough. One slip, and you are in deep deep trouble. I can tell you that 90 percent of us try our hardest, and our teachers and parents stand in the sidelines, screaming, “You can do better than that!”"


Why I say our education system is flawed (via perfect-delusions)

this is so heartbreakingly true, and that fact is disgusting.

(via foxfoxwolf)


(via curse-of-curvess)

Fuck I want to cry.

(via retr0philia)

(via thedanielleeee)


I’m one to emotionally blurb about twice a year so, here we go with #2. I used to get made fun of when I was younger for a lot of things. Birthday’s forgotten about, too skinny, didn’t talk enough, vomited during class presentations, danced too strange, dressed like a boy and then when I would act like a girl, i’d get made fun of more. Once I got out of grade school … I made it a real goal, to someday make this speech that I’m typing out to you now. The one that says I’m going to wear boys clothes if I want. Dance with a girl, if I want (a girl who can actually hold my body weight on one leg, lift me over her head, and dance with me like all the fairy-tale girls get danced with). The one that says “shit really happens” but you’ve got to see the dam breaking in order to appreciate the leaky faucet. The one that explains warrior stripes under our eyes to represent the different mini-war’s we all fought to get to this point. Took me 19 years to speak it here but, 19 is better than 100 and I am so happy. A big factor of my wanting to start Flock’dance, was so that, by publicly being who we want to be - through our art … little by little we make the platform for acceptance, into less of a platform and more of a solid ground for everyone to stand on. To try and turn our concrete pushes, our fires, our heartbreaks, our imbalances, and our losses into something much more beautiful. To reach out with my own two hands, and try to help others realize what I have realized. I know I’m not the first to speak of this topic but I want to try and be the last that feels the need to promote and maybe to even introduce, self-acceptance. My “art” reaches further than my words and I never want to stop reaching.

The boy speaking in this video, also completely changed me. His name is Lucas Regazzi ( and his words have been the back bone that I flesh around when I want to stop stepping through my days. This marks our third collaboration together.

So I guess for the first time in a while, here is a little video of Amara Barner and I, holding so much more than dance moves. Thank you for reading/watching.

(Source: homeforsam, via stiles24)


Awesome tattoo artist, Sasha Unisex.

(via vnst0ppable)

(Source: daenerys-targaryen, via hopesoftheunhopeful)