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Showing posts from May, 2013
"Sometimes you have to let people go because they are toxic to you. let them go because they take and take and leave you empty. let them go because in the ocean of life when all you're trying to do is stay afloat, they are the anchor that's drowning you."

I KNEW A GHOST, ONCE

“See that, honey?

that’s the scar of love.” Pan to the gash across my chest, other wounds left to bleed beneath fabric; other bones left broken beneath heavy skin.

“I don’t understand, how could love hurt so much?” She was so small.

I shook my head, a voice cracking like the sheets of ice on a lake. “that’s the scar from when it ripped my heart out; from when I was whole, and when I was real.”And she looked at me with her moon eyes, so big, so confused. So I smiled, and took her hand, “never mind dear.”

I can only pray you will never die the way I did
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Don’t know why I keep writing about you when I know that you are someone my words won’t reach

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"Describe tje color red without using the word red"

when you dip her in the middle of the dance floow, it is the color of her dress.when she whispers in your ear, it is the color of her lips.when you make love, it is the trace you want her to leave all over your body.when she places her palm over your heart, it is the color that comes to the surface as her fingertips trail like a sentence that can never be finished.when you see her in your bedroom with another, it is the color of your breath.when you smash the vase in the hall, it is the color that threatens you to abandon the shattered pieces.when you scream at the top of your lungs, it is the color that pierces the atmosphere.when she hears you, it is the color of her pulse.when you look in her eyes for the last time, it is the fading color of your heart falling to your knees.it is not the color you see when she leaves.
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Sweet thing, you’re so entirely addictive I’m up most nights contemplating
that if I ground your bones, I’d have cocaine.
This is me saying my bones are pianos where you are composed. That you are my 9th. That our bodies will sound together like stadium applause. Tonight my fingernails are headstones in moonlit cemeteries, hiding buried dirt and lovers skin.
Laying sideways with you,going on about how we’re replaceable but like hot light-bulbs that shatter in our wrists.How all of my organs are organs that play together in sweet melody with every dip and rise of your cervix as my fingers trace the line
where your shoulder blades meet like dueling fencers.
That was a mouthful —
but lady you have seen nothing yet.
I want to break my jaw, between your legs.
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NY under water. The eye-catching swimming pool in Mumbai, India, has been built to raise awareness about the threat of sea level rises as a result of global warming. It was constructed by attaching a giant aerial photograph of the New York City skyline to the floor of the pool.
And the one student said that happiness is what happens when you go to bed on the hottest night of the summer, a night so hot you can't even wear a tee-shirt and you sleep on top of the sheets instead of under them, although try to sleep is probably more accurate. And then at some point late, late at night, say just a bit before dawn, the heat finally breaks and the night turns cool and when you briefly wake up, you notice you're almost chilly, and in your groggy, half consciousness, you reach over and pull the sheet around you and just that flimsy sheet makes it warm enough and you drift back off into a deep sleep.
And it's that reaching, that gesture, that reflex we have to pull what's warm - whether it's something or someone - toward us, that feeling we get when we do that, that feeling of being safe in the world and ready for sleep, that's happiness.
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People tell children like us that we can be anything but we grow up like -- we want to be everything.
I want to feel the words of all the words I left unsaid and I want to be the girl rising: firecracker aimed to the dawn and burning, burn burn burn. I am the happiest at the time between waking and dreaming, too hazy to look to the sky but at least I know I am not just a shell, not just a crime scene.
I want my lungs to give out under the wright of my dandelion dreams and plane tickets to the future.
I can't make anyone love me, can't make anyone remember me but I'll smash the mirrors, smoke the walls and slam the doors on the way out of this crackling city.
I was here, I was here, and I am here. People like us, we are here, we are alive and we are.
I am still so young, still so sixteen but I think skin will never be enough for people like us.
I wanted to be fearless once upon a time because of things I couldn't ever admit to even myself but these days I just want to b…
The sun:
He was beautiful and he knew what it felt like to be admired.
He longed to kiss the cheeks of every girl with sandy knees and a sundress and he tended to burn just a little too bright.
He claimed to be in love with the moon.The moon:
She was honest.
She stitched your secrets to her mouth and counted the freckles on your eyelids and she sang to Tue rise and fall of your chest underneath the bed sheets when you failed to hold your breath.
She fell a little too fast for the sun and the way that his fingers were known to trace cheekbones beautifully.
The sun and the moon had an affair:
And it only lasted until the moon realized that she could never shine as brightly as her love.
We are more than the worst thing that's ever happened to us. All of us need to stop apologizing for having been to hell and come back breathing.Your bad dreams are battle scars.
What doesn't kill you cuts you fucking deep but scars are just skin growing back thicker when it heals.
"are you happy?" is such a difficult question. I always say yes, because I have friends. I laugh at jokes, I go out a lot and have fun. My life isn't as bad as it could be. And I don't have terrible problems, it could really be worse.But then, one night at 3am when I'm alone still awake, lying in bed, thinking about life, I find myself crying my heart out, suddenly convinced that no one likes me, or nobody will ever like me. I feel horrible and I question everything I had.And I don't know if I was ever happy at all.
We came home drunk again and I
Smashes your guitar
Burned your vinyl
Ripped up and destroyed and there out your clothesJoy shivered down my spine with
Every scream you threw at meI wanted you to feel what I felt
With your nails digging into my heart
I wanted you to choke too.

I am going to give you a piece of advice...

advice I wish I'd been told in guidance class back in high school, in between the don't-do-acid and don't-drink-and-drive films. I wish our counselors had told us, "when you grow older a dreadful, horrible sensation will come over you. it's called loneliness, and you think you know what it si now, but you don't. here is the list of the symptoms, and don't worry - loneliness is the most universal sensation on the planet. Just remember one fact - loneliness will pass. You will survive and you will be a better human for it."
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To anyone who tries to love her the way I do

If you try to sing her to sleep,
you'll never sing the right tune.
And don't even get me started
on when it comes to bringing her
flowers on a bad day.
Because if you loved her
a fraction of the way I do,
you would know that she despises flowers,
because of how they remind her
of her mother's funeral.
Or how she can't drink her tea too hot,
because of how she severely burned her tongue
that time her grnadmother made her milk
a little too warm when she was a child.
But most of all, I despise
how she might let you in, and fool her
into a heartbreak she was never prepared for,
because I too, know how that once felt.
And till this day, I have not quite recovered.
I hope that one day you buy every pretty dress you've ever wanted.
I hope you wear them and dance barefoot in summer and laugh.
I hope you smile at all the little things, like flowers, and the laughter of children.
I hope you get that tattoo you've always wanted.
I hope you go to Paris and every single state in the US.
I hope you never stop singing, even when people tell you that you can't - in fact, especially then.
That's when I hope you'll sing the loudest.
I hope you buy a bracelet everywhere you go until your whole arm is filled with them.
I hope you stop beating yourself up about everything that's out of your control.
I hope you have the guts to speak up when something is important to you.
I hope you step out of your comfort zone.
I hope you fall insanely in love with someone unexpected.
I hope you forget about your scars - inside and out - and learn to be happy.
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— Definition of Love - Andrew Landon


Love is a funny thing. You expect it to be easy. You expect it to be a world of roses and laughs and perfect moments that you find only in movies. You expect her to always say the right thing, and always know exactly how you feel, or exactly how to react to it. You expect her to calm you down when you’re yelling or to chase you when you run away. You expect so much that you feel entirely, and utterly defeated when something doesn’t exactly match up with all your plans. But that’s the thing. Love isn’t a plan. It doesn’t have a certain beginning and it certainly has no end or visible finish line to those deeply in it.
Love happens; it is so incredibly messy. People around you can’t comprehend why you do the things you do, or why you fight so hard for something that seems to cause you so much pain, because simply, they can’t see. They can’t see the invisible ring of insanity that surrounds you when you’re in love. It’s inconvenient and painful and devastating at times,…
How did I love her?
Let me count the ways.
The freckles on her nose like the shadow of a shadow; the way she chewed on her lower lip when she was thinking and the way her ponytail swung when she walked and how when she ran she looked like she was born going fast and how she fit perfectly against my chest; her smell and the touch of her lips and her skin, which was always warm, and how she smiled. Like she had a secret.
How she always made up words during Scrabble. Hyddym (secret music). Grofp (cafeteria food). Quaw (the sound of a babyduck makes). How she burped her way through the alphabet once, and I laughed so hard I spat out soda through my nose.
And how she looked at me like I could save her from everything bad in the world.
This was my secret: she was the one saved me.
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Someday I hope you’ll remove all the butterflies from your stomach
and count them up one by one, then place them in a manila envelope
to keep for all the times you need to feel something;
then you can let them free again. I wish you knew that loneliness
is a hell of a lot like soft-serve ice cream: it can be soothing
when you get it in small doses, but when you take too large
of a serving, you’ll end up making yourself sick.
Sometimes your body feels like a sunrise that hasn’t started
making its way out of the sky yet, but I promise you
that every ray of sun has to start somewhere,
even buried in the ground with the dirt and the insects,
so deep someone has to dig it out.
But someday someone is going to buy 20,000 shovels
and every single one is gonna be for you,
and they’ll bring every ray of sun, every cloud, to the surface again.
Honey, God himself probably bragged to the angels
when he created you, and even Satan
would want you to remain on Earth
so he could watc…