"You have to be lonely, confused, and feeling like your heart is coming undone, to figure out who you really are. Comfort stalls your soul; but in desperate times, your true colors shine through the gray skies."

"I tend to dream about the person I want to become, and I realized, maybe I only ever dream about her because, I can’t actually be her. I mean, I’ve already faced my biggest fear, that life doesn’t turn out like literature. I would never be the girl with moon kissed skin, rose colored lips, and eyes like dark velvet. I would not stumble into words like alluring, or pulchritudinous in real life when people described me. I would not find myself on his book shelf, a photo album of just my pictures, or just my letters. I would not be the last name on his lips or the fire underneath his shoes causing him to be better. I would not be spoken about like poetry, or remembered like Sylvia. I would not be looked at like the moon and stars or read like a favorite novel. God, my bed should be a graveyard, I’ve killed many dreams there."

i.c. // If I close my eyes long enough, I can see her. (via delicatepoetry)

"I wish I could say that
I woke up the morning
after you left
to the trees crying
to the walls breaking
to the dresser drawers falling out
to the carpet pulling up
to ambulance sirens playing
to the grass dying
to the oceans drying
to the birds screaming
to the mirrors shattering
to the sound of happiness deafening
to the hollowness breathing
to the emptiness rupturing
to the hair on my head turning white
to the sun exploding
to the stars falling
to the sky cracking open, pouring the heavens out, dying.
But, I woke up the morning
after you left
and everything was the same except for your absence.
There was nothing extraordinary about you leaving.
There was nothing in the world that said, “This isn’t right. We are broken, too”
I woke up the morning after you left and the bed was cold
and that was the only thing different
and I called you and told you I loved you
and you said it didn’t matter.
I woke up the morning
after you left
and everything kept moving.
Nothing stopped to break, like I was breaking.
You were gone and I was the only one who seemed to get the wind knocked out of me because of it."


You are strong palms, tired bones, you are good foundations out of stone.

You are asphalt and where you grew up, you are the swingset and the night sky. You are the smell of toast and your mother’s coffee.

You are forge, you come with bellows and fire and bronze. You are granite. You come with hard history, witches in your hair and sickness in your heartbeat. They made you death. They made you dying.

She is clockwork systems, she is malfunction, you can see her strum her own funeral aria. She is crying over her tiny lily headache, she is trying to explain why she’s always coupled with a misty cloud of complete self-hatred.

You hold her hand. You breathe life. You know how cold space is, you disintegrate it. You bring her body against yours until her trembling stops. Her arms are a shaky circle around you. She murmurs a thanks you don’t feel you deserve.

She is shadows, you are light. Without her, you are not defined.

She is static, but you are radio. Wherever she is, you find yourself home.


Magnesium: black, part 9/9 in the rainbow series // r.i.d  (via inkskinned)

"… my heart is a parachute that has never
   opened in time"

Andrea Gibson. from “Pole Dancer,” Pole Dancing to Gospel Hymns (via lifeinpoetry)

"If you consider a woman
less pure after you’ve touched her
maybe you should take a look at your hands."

Unknown (via canhappenlove)

(via canhappenlove)




i’m in friend love with all of you

u gay

macklemore didn’t die in a thrift shop for this

(Source: aidn, via backwardshearts)






no cough syrup

you are not ‘grape flavoured’

have you ever tasted a grape

you taste like death and the tears of small children

not fucking grape

wow what a surprise another cis-gendered white upper-middle class american male telling someone what they can and cannot identify as. why don’t you go fuck yourself

#i can no longer tell what is and isn’t a joke on tumblr any more



(via princessballls)


when ur mom says you need to get a job but u know ur not ready


(via sorry)