A Quote by Karamo Brown

I hate chapped lips. — © Karamo Brown
I hate chapped lips.
I hate chapped lips. I absolutely hate chapped lips.
I can't do chapped lips. If your lips are jacked up, Aquaphor is always a good go-to.
My lips are always chapped and it's a problem.
My lips are chapped from the winds of change.
It actually makes me squirm now, when I see my chapped lips on television.
I ultimately decided that I couldn't beat it more than three times a day, (I) was just too drained and chapped. That's what Radiohead is about. You're just drained and chapped, down there.
I am sure I would love to do it now, but back then, I was, like, 11 and it was 'ugh.' There's nothing sexual or sexy when you're that age. So I was kissing Brad Pitt. So what? He had chapped lips. He was lovely and kind and sweet to me, but it was just yuk.
I used to hate that my lips are gigantic, and now I have huge red clown lips, and I love it.
I use By Terry lip gloss religiously - and I always have Elizabeth Arden 8 Hour Cream with me just in case. Between the two of them, I've got everything covered, from chapped lips to stray marks to doing a simple glossy eye.
Lips move; lips touch; lips signal. Lips are on the outside for show, and on the most secret inside of your mouth. Lips frame words that lie. Lips frame a hole that wants to be filled.
I always have Aquaphor which is just for like chapped lips, especially in the wintertime when you're traveling a lot. That's just the worst combination of things. And always a really good pair of jeans. Something vintage-y, a little loose and boyfriend-y, but not over the top. They're just comfortable but could still be dressed up or down.
The first time I kissed you, you had just cut off your hair with a plastic knife. You were in restraints and your lips were completely chapped and dry from the tranquilizers. The next day you tried to kill me with a torn-off piece of bedsheet. I've seen you at your worst. You hardly need to dress up for me.
Between lips and lips there are cities of great ash and moist summit, drops of when and how, vague comings and goings: between lips and lips as along a shore of sand and glass the wind passes.
Who taught you to hate the color of your skin? Who taught you to hate the texture of your hair? Who taught you to hate the shape of your nose and the shape of your lips? Who taught you to hate yourself from the top of your head to the soles of your feet?
The lips on my upper right bicep are my girlfriend's lips. She has the most amazing lips, and I wanted to carry them around with me everywhere I go, considering I can't carry her lips physically with me. So I decided to place them in a discreet location, such as the inside part of my bicep.
Love me or hate me, it's one or the other. Always has been. Hate my game, my swagger. Hate my fadeaway, my hunger. Hate that I'm a veteran. A champion. Hate that. Hate it with all your heart. And hate that I'm loved, for the exact same reasons.
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