Showing posts from February, 2013

Being a girlfriend.

Being a girlfriend is not just about being beautiful and attractive for your guy. It’s not just about letting him chase you, letting him do sweet things every time you’re mad at him and not just receiving flowers and gifts during your anniversaries. It’s not about doing those girly things just to get his attention and not just about feeling mighty every time he did everything you want. It’s also being an emotional partner wherein you support him in every opportunity that he takes, you appreciate everything that he does for you and you thank him for doing it, you remind him on the things he must do and what he must not. Just because you know that you can always keep him on his feet, doesn’t mean you can manipulate him. You understand him not just as a partner but as individual too. you help him in every way showing him, that in a relationship, there’s no “I” or “you”, there’s only “we” and “us”. You know also that a man has their ego, and even when it become a little irr…

“You will not be punished for your anger, you will be punished by your anger.”

And I promise, that every single night, before the darkness, swallows this already blackened world, I'll tell you how beautiful you are to me.

I'll tell you how I love you.

It's 6 am and I want to be lying next to you
with our hands locked together,
and our legs intertwined.

I want your face buried in my neck.
and I want to listen to your breathing.

I want you to wake up and tell me,
"I'm so tired,"
because I want to whisper
"Go back to sleep,"
and I want to hold you tighter when you do.

I want to lie in bed alone with you,
in the comforting silence of the early morning hours,
and maybe read a book while you sleep.

I want to be simple with you.

What they don't understand anpoit birthdays and what they never tell you is

that when you're eleven, you're also ten. and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one.

And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday, you expect to feel eleven, but you don't.
You open your eyes and everything is just life yesterday, only it's today. And you don't feel eleven at all. You feel like you're still ten. And you are - underneath the year that makes you eleven.

Like some days you might say something stupid, and that's the part of you that's still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama's lap because you're scared, and that's the part of you that's still five. And maybe one day when you're all grown up maybe you will need to cry like you're three, and that's okay.
That's what I tell Mama when she's sad and needs to cry.
Maybe she's feeling three.

Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion  of like the rings inside a tree trunk or …
i don't think
anything really lasts

coffee cools cigarettes ends music stops and life simply goes, on.
i don't think  anything really lasts.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I’m sorry, I’ve got to be this way. But it hurts me more than you think I wish it wasn’t like this anymore. Forgive me for being this way. I need help, I need comfort. Please, just save me from myself.” — Anonymous

If you didn’t cut last night, I’m proud of you. 

If you didn’t purge last night, I’m proud of you. 

If you ate something last night, I’m proud of you. 

If you calmed yourself down during an anxiety attack, I’m proud of you.

If you didn’t let the bullies get to you, I’m proud of you. 

If you stayed alive for another night, I’m proud of you. 


When to souls fall in love, there is nothing else but the yearning to be close to the other. The presence that is felt through a hand held, a voice heard, or a smile seen.

Souls do not have calendars or clocks, nor do they understand the notion of time or distance. They only know it feels right to be with one another.

This is the reason why you miss someone so much when they are not there- even if they are only in the very next room.Your soul feels their absence0 it doesn't realise the separation is temporary.


"Can I ask you something?"
"Whyis it every time we say goodnight, it feels like goodbye?"

-Lang Leav
I think if you let me, I'd treat you like the sky, I'd join up all your insecurities and bundle all your flaws. I'd create a new constellation and search for it endlessly.
I know you don't see yourself, the way I see you. And you still argue when I call you beautiful. But all the things you can't stand about yourself, are all the things I can;t go a day without.
I think that if you let me, I'd build an observatory just to show you that all the stars will never shine as bright as you.
to the boy that called me fat when i was thirteen, like it was a crime for me to be alright with myself, the way my body moved.
fuck you.
once upon a time i could smile at myself in the mirror.

everything you called me, they caught up across the years because words run fast when you’re running away.
there were other boys,
there were other kind boys: my kind boys,
they told him to fuck off too,
the one that called me cute,
the one that told me i was fine. i was fine.

but the words stick to you like tattoos, words people draw just to watch you bleed.
i was thirteen. i was thirteen. you, you were two years older than me,
and i could still sprint faster than you.
some days i walk around with a scissors running through my chest, and some days flowers do bloom. I’ve said it before, spring keeps me moving. a boy even helped me pin a clover to my sleeve, and he told me it gets better, like it was the feathers i used to sew onto my wrist when i really did think i could fly away from here. i used to think i was frightened fearless, but that was before i saw the ghost of a girl-child in the mirror.
It was exhausting the way I loved you.
I threw every ounce of myself into it.
I dived head first at your heart,
but just as I should have hit the water,
I hit a brick wall.
Where a splash should have been,
was a scream of pain.
Your guard was up,
and I was left battered and bruised,
with a heat heart,
and an even heavier loss.

person, people. ghost

there is a girl i grow white flowers for. some days you can see it in her eyes, how i try to sweep the petals off her front yard. it’s supposed to be spring, but you could see the decay eating her away from the inside. it’s hard to stay silent, where there’s a car crash right down the street. i don’t know how bloody it got, but the girl, the girl in the backseat, she’s so young - there is a girl who believes she is a monster. i don’t know why. i believe there is a mist like a veil in her mind, but i think i understand her, understand the white noise and feelings of sinking, how the shadows sing her down late at night - there was a boy i once knew. he is now a man, but skin of alabaster and bones of plaster. he had a sabre-toothed grin. never in years i would think he tasted like caramel; i’d like to think he is alright.there is a girl i know, my goldfish girl. with scales so iridescent you could see them reflect the light from the wheat and the fields, you would know it wa…

“Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways.” — Sigmund Freud

I think I've been gone long enough to find myself again.

Sorry I haven't been here lately.
I fell in love with the morning, how you stumbled out of bed when you first woke up, and how your eyes groaned with exhaustion.
The way your hands grasped my hipbones while your lips stole the ending of my sentences. Everyday with you felt like a month on Sunday mornings with white bed sheets and lazy smiles.

The walk back from your house made me remember what Monday mornings feel like.

Somewhere in-between falling in love with our midight cmversations that were exhaled through cigarette breaths and interrupted by coffee stains, and reading the love notes you had written on my bare flesh, I realized, I am in love with your presence of your words and the feel of your existence.

But I am not in love wirh you.