Quote
"every time you
tell your daughter
you yell at her
out of love
you teach her to confuse
anger with kindness
which seems like a good idea
till she grows up to
trust men who hurt her
cause they look so much
like you."

to fathers with daughtersrupi kaur (via 33113)

(via livingthroughpics)

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triple-six-kicks:

"I don’t love him but he’s here and you aren’t"

triple-six-kicks:

"I don’t love him but he’s here and you aren’t"

(via livingthroughpics)

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budlightsouthernnight:

Seeing people my age and/or younger get married and start their lives is scary… I’m like what if that never happens for me?

(via semi-sweetsouthernbelle)

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"Depression is stupid and not a thing that makes me a better writer. One time I went a whole year without writing and I stayed in bed and drank. Fuck your Bukowskisms. I want sunlight and love and running down some street I’ve never been on where it’s warm and cool at the same time and I’m smiling. I want nothing to ever be bad again- and I don’t mean that I want a life free of conflict, I mean that I want a life free of meaningless conflict. Not being able to will oneself to take a shower or leave the house is meaningless. There is nothing to be gained, no lesson to be learned from that kind of life. My heart is stale, my prose is stale. Give me fire if you want to hurt me. Give me something I can taste. There’s nothing romantic or mysterious about where I am. There’s nothing here worth holding onto."

By Joshua Espinoza  (via quibbler)

(Source: doubtsbestally, via langleav)

Quote
"I want to be
craved
by you.
I want you
to think about kissing
me
as much as I
think about
kissing
you."

— (via you-r-so-perfect)

(Source: 400eurojob, via skinnylove-fades)

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elaps:

Bubble Wands, Mike Flemming
Quote
"But if these years have taught me anything it is this: you can never run away. Not ever. The only way out is in."

— Junot Díaz (via likeafieldmouse)

(via butviennawaits)

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"You were my cup of tea, I drink coffee now."

— (via whentheheartwaits)

(Source: eric-khach, via whentheheartwaits)

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whentheheartwaits:

Warsan Shire is a goddess of words

(Source: l-ettie)

Quote
"The dynamic in a relationship should not based on a materialistic attraction.
It’s not based on a co-dependency.
It’s not based on a neediness for each other.
It should really be deeply rooted in respect, and honesty, and communication. And I think to be able to send that message out is so beautiful and so powerful because there are so many films that preach co-dependency.
And preach validation from others.
It should be about two, strong individuals who both have the same end goal in mind.
So instead of being completely co-dependent lovers, they are more of a team and more of a partnership…
That’s what I want to share with others."

— Shailene Woodley (via whentheheartwaits)

Quote
"It only took one time for me to fall into an addiction."

Back Shelf Poetry, Cheaters Don’t Get Love Ballads (via whentheheartwaits)

(Source: backshelfpoet, via whentheheartwaits)

Quote
"

The first man to name me “goddess”
was twenty-one and drunk on rum.
Breath heavy with lust and booze, he told me
that most nights he carved poems into the walls trying to write me alive in the room with him,
so when the light hit the scrapes just right,
he could catch his breath for a minute.
I was just fifteen, all ivory thighs and wild eyes,
but still he held my spine between his teeth and spun words off his tongue like thread—
they wrapped around me in a throat-crushing tangle,
but when my limbs began to struggle,
I convinced myself it was some sort of embrace.
One night he called me saying,
“Babygirl, you gotta open your window and stare out at that moon. Isn’t it beautiful, baby? Look at the sky holding up that massive thing all on its own. Damn, you’re just like that, you know?
You’re my sky.”
My frail bones were cracking under the weight of the rock he sickly called devotion—
instead of shattering, I let him become a solar eclipse
and never looked back at him again.

The second boy came to me on his knees at seventeen:
a past lover replaced with steel skin and iron irises.
I’ve never heard a voice as cold as his was, begging for my touch and dripping false sincerity off the edges of his lips.
He cried, “I didn’t know I needed you until you were gone. I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m just fucked up in the head.
Maybe you can soothe the ache in my soul if you kiss it just right with those words of yours.
You’ve always known just what to say.”
Each whisper echoed with a heavy blow that rang in my ears
and bruised my bones so deeply that I still feel them in the marrow.
As he spoke, I could sense those phantom-fingers that once fit so well between my thighs
beginning to curl around my ankles,
so I stepped on them.

The third man held nineteen years in his fists and
told me I wrote like words were poison,
as if I needed to pull them out of my gut as quickly as I could scratch them down, just so I wouldn’t choke.
Now I was sixteen and slinking around in ink-black stockings,
lips red and bloody from tearing the hearts of men out of their sleeves with my teeth.
He claimed I was wild like nothing he’d seen before.
“You’re wise for your age,” he declared. “You remind me of a Burroughs novel; I just can’t seem to understand you.”
I tried to unwrap my heart and serve it to him,
all raw and brutal,
but he returned it untouched, replying, “Stay quiet, now, darling, I don’t want to hear it just now. It’ll spoil it all, you see.”
To him I was a character, a fetishized fantasy,
and he’d cover his ears if I ever tried to speak
outside of a poem.

See, men only seem to stumble upon me in the dark,
as they grasp and fumble for something to swallow to convince their starving hearts
that they’re worth beating.
They hear my words as a siren call and drink me down in heavy doses.
Then, they crush me between their fingers and grind the dust into the ground with their heels so they can keep trudging along,
toting their tragedy behind them.
In their swollen eyes, I am only a poetic panacea.
But god, in the time that it’s taken for my rubble to reform into this shape they call a body,
I have grown thunderstorms in my skin and collected tornadoes under my tongue.
Yes, I’ve been told many times by those who try to solve me
that I exist only so that I may be destroyed
for the sake of others,
but instead, I have become a forest fire,
and I will burn myself alive to tear down
the thicket in my path until
I’m standing in the wake of my
destruction as merely
human.

"

"I Am Not A Cure" by Abigail Staub (via guiseofgentlewords)

i wrote this poem in the beginning of summer but it’s my favorite thing i’ve ever written and i think about it a lot

(via guiseofgentlewords)

(via guiseofgentlewords)

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baiolicious:

i’m such an asshole but i’m also a very kind-hearted person who likes making ppl happy and if i love u i will love u with all my heart and all my soul but then i’m also such an asshole

(via inthemiddle0feverywhere)

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