QueenMo👸🏿💜 @_TiaDaBest

The WORST part of my tattoo addiction is the healing part of a new tatttoo. IT FUCKING ITCHES so damn bad bro!!!! I just want to scratch tf out of it and nothing is helping 😭 I’m miserable but can’t wait to get more🤣🤷🏿‍♀️

When your aunt who lives in Hawaii tells you too book a flight to spend a week with her just yall. YOU BOOK YOUR FLIGHT TO HAWAII. See ya in Feb. Hawaii ☺️🤪

Keşke bütün öğretmenler böyle olsa.!

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I need to go home. I hate hospitals and there’s no way I’m going to feel better in one. Idk why I agreed to being admitted

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I love living in California with my family but I MISS my best friend my person so damn much every single day😭☹️ we FaceTime everyday but we both have so much on our plates and all I wanna do is crawl into bed with her and just nap like we used to when life got to be too hard.

You’re trauma; childhood or not does NOT excuse your villain ark!

I JUST HEARD SOMEONE SAY, “MAYBE YOU DON’T NEED MORE TIME TO HEAL, MAYBE YOU NEED MORE EXPERIENCES THAT SHOW YOUR NERVOUS SYSTEM A DIFFERENT REALITY,” AND YEAH… IT ECHOED IN ME

Resentment is weird because yes, I want to forgive you wholeheartedly, but my mind is struggling to comprehend why you did that to me.

That woman is 100% correct.

@instagram I’m about to become very annoying here soon

I can’t function without music. It’s my safe space to put headphones on and listen. I have music planning majority of the day

@instagram ITS BEEN 3 days PLEASE HURRY WND REVIEW MY SHIT SO J CAN HAVE MY INSTAGRAM AND FACEBOOK BACK!!!! This is bullshit I didn’t do anything wrong and I’m about to go on vacation and I just wanna post about it but can’t MY SHIT IS STILL SUSPENDED!!!!🤬😤

the immediate laugh from finn ouhhh they're shady💀

"My name's Raymond. I'm 73. I work the parking lot at St. Joseph's Hospital. Minimum wage, orange vest, a whistle I barely use. Most people don't even look at me. I'm just the old man waving cars into spaces. But I see everything. Like the black sedan that circled the lot every morning at 6 a.m. for three weeks. Young man driving, grandmother in the passenger seat. Chemotherapy, I figured. He'd drop her at the entrance, then spend 20 minutes hunting for parking, missing her appointments. One morning, I stopped him. "What time tomorrow?" "6:15," he said, confused. "Space A-7 will be empty. I'll save it." He blinked. "You... you can do that?" "I can now," I said. Next morning, I stood in A-7, holding my ground as cars circled angrily. When his sedan pulled up, I moved. He rolled down his window, speechless. "Why?" "Because she needs you in there with her," I said. "Not out here stressing." He cried. Right there in the parking lot. Word spread quietly. A father with a sick baby asked if I could help. A woman visiting her dying husband. I started arriving at 5 a.m., notebook in hand, tracking who needed what. Saved spots became sacred. People stopped honking. They waited. Because they knew someone else was fighting something bigger than traffic. But here's what changed everything, A businessman in a Mercedes screamed at me one morning. "I'm not sick! I need that spot for a meeting!" "Then walk," I said calmly. "That space is for someone whose hands are shaking too hard to grip a steering wheel." He sped off, furious. But a woman behind him got out of her car and hugged me. "My son has leukemia," she sobbed. "Thank you for seeing us." The hospital tried to stop me. "Liability issues," they said. But then families started writing letters. Dozens. "Raymond made the worst days bearable." "He gave us one less thing to break over." Last month, they made it official. "Reserved Parking for Families in Crisis." Ten spots, marked with blue signs. And they asked me to manage it. But the best part? A man I'd helped two years ago, his mother survived, came back. He's a carpenter. Built a small wooden box, mounted it by the reserved spaces. Inside? Prayer cards, tissues, breath mints, and a note, "Take what you need. You're not alone. -Raymond & Friends" People leave things now. Granola bars. Phone chargers. Yesterday, someone left a hand-knitted blanket. I'm 73. I direct traffic in a hospital parking lot. But I've learned this: Healing doesn't just happen in operating rooms. Sometimes it starts in a parking space. When someone says, "I see your crisis. Let me carry this one small piece." So pay attention. At the grocery checkout, the coffee line, wherever you are. Someone's drowning in the little things while fighting the big ones. Hold a door. Save a spot. Carry the weight no one else sees. It's not glamorous. But it's everything." Let this story reach more hearts.... Credit: Mary Nelson

My delulu ass believes I could be a mafia wife from how much mafia smut I read 🤣

I APOLOGIZE FOR DISRUPTING YOUR SCROLL… but SIS, you are going to have lots of wins for October.