Showing posts from April, 2014

We've only seen 5% of the sea, Ellison

I was once told,
“We write what we know best”,
and they say I know you deepest.
But like the fail points of a bridge,
you know exactly where
I’m weakest.
And if the oceans still so vast,
your thoughts stretch further
than its shores;
while the outline of your ghost
still sleeps upon
my bedroom floor.

Delusions, Siobhan

i don’t think anyone else
can miss someone 
the way i miss you
but if they do,
i’ll tell them

"be strong.
hold on.
he’s worth it.”

the saddest hours
are when I’m asleep
and you’re awake.

when I’m dreaming
and you’re not.

the convincing myself
i’ll see you soon,
not knowing
when “soon” is.

the kissing your picture
before going to bed,
hoping you’d feel
the coldness of 
my chapped lips
that are in need
of your 
ones’ warmth.

the praying,
the hoping
that the next time
i open my eyes,
i see you 
sleeping beside me
with your heavy arms
on my chest.
you may make
it harder to breathe,
but who needs air
ehen I have your
scent to inhale?

even the most
annoying things;
your snore.
that keeps
me up all night.

you may not know this,
but you were my
favourite part of 
the day.

but sometimes,
when I open my eyes,
i see you.
sleeping, snoring.
right there.
then in a  blink away,
you’re no longer there.
When you meet a boy
With wounds deeper than yours
Do not enter his bloodstream
Hoping to save him,
Because, love, you will fail-
People can’t be saved,
They’re not things to be repaired.
The most you can do
Is heal your own wounds,
And be there
When he saves himself.
I hope you fall in love
with someone who always texts back, be it quick or slow and never lets you fall asleep thinking you’re unwanted.
I hope you fall in love with someone
Who holds your hand during the scary parts of
Horror movies Holds your hand when you're asleep Holds your hand, Holds you. I hope you fall in love with
Someone who sees galaxies in your eyes
And hears music in your
Heartbeats. I hope you fall I'm love with someone Who ticks you off  And yet you can never stay mad at them.
I hope you fall in love with someone who
Tickles you even if you're not ticklish and makes you smile
On hard days and  on easy ones.
But beyond all that I hope
You fall in love with someone
Who will never leave you behind
And who will never take you
For granted, someone who
Will stand by you when you’re
Right and stand by you
When you’re wrong,
Someone who has seen you at your worst
And has loved you 
I hope you fall in love
With someone who
Kisses you in the rain Kisses you before they leave Kisses you whenever

How to feel better and become better:

1. If you like someone, wait.
2. Give lots of compliments, even if you’re shy. Everyone else is too.
3. Change. Get a haircut, try new perfume, get new sheets. Become better than you were before.
4. Eat healthier. Learn to cook something fancy.
5. Get up earlier and watch the sun come up.
6. Wear soft clothes, take a bath, drink something warm.
7. Meet someone new, even just a friend.
8. Become closer with your friends and your family. Call your mother. Cry with your best friend. Tell everyone how much you appreciate them.
9. Keep your room clean. Buy some candles. Let the natural light in. 
10. Make a list of reasons why you’ll be better off without them. Believe they are true, because they are. 
11. Listen to new music. 
12. Write everything you’re thinking and feeling. Write letters. Write happy letters, sad letters, and angry letters, even if you’re never going to send them.
13. It’s okay to be sad, but not forever. Sadness is not as beautiful as music makes it seem. Lack of sleep makes your …

You are beautiful because you let yourself feel, and that is a brave thing indeed.

I hope you meet someone who wants to experience you and not just see you by their eyes. Someone who doesn’t only want to have sex with you but moves their fingers over your body like trying to find a city on a world map and mark their favourite destinations. Someone who wants to experience you like a masterpiece. Whenever we observe a masterpiece we get the urge to touch it and most of the time we do, involuntarily, because it’s so perfect that we not only want to see it with our eyes and forget its details later on because I read somewhere that every time you recall a memory your brain edits it bit by bit so we long to experience it so that each part which contributes to its perfection stays with us after all how scary it would be to forget how perfect you felt. So I hope someone experiences you like a summer breeze stroking your hair, like the warmth of bonfire on a chilly winter night, like the taste of that traditional homemade dish by a mother for her children who’s taste forever…
so a couple days back, I received a letter from a friend of mine, and I can't remember the last time I felt so giddy about some letters strung together by hand and pen, and it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside knowing that someone actually took the time and effort to write you a letter

"I haven't been doing very well without you"

1. I have read your favorite book six times since we broke up. The ending is stupid and cliche. It hurts more every time I read it.2. My mother stopped by today. She asked me why all the plants are dead.3. I was shaking so hard I spilled coffee down my shirt. It burned my chest but not as much as you do.4. I can’t breathe. I don’t really want to anymore anyway.5. I’ve stopped writing. My new favorite hobby is tearing myself apart.6. I feel knives in my chest when you speak.7. I was supposed to go to dinner with my best friend but I couldn’t get out of bed. People keep telling me they miss me. I wish I had it in me to miss them back.8. Sometimes I still feel you. Those are the nights when I choke on vodka and drag brushes across the spots you liked to touch me.9. I saw you walking down the street and I swear I could hear my ribs crack.10. I keep telling my father that I’m fine but he doesn’t believe me.11. There’s a hole in my chest where you used to be.12. Maybe all the stars in the s…

A good laugh and a long sleep are the two best cures for anything.

If you call me at 4 am, too sad to even say hello, I will listen to your silence until you fall asleep. If you need to cry I will not wipe your tears away because you are only human and sometimes tears are as close to laughter as you can get and that’s okay.  If you get sleepy I will let you drool on my arm and I won’t laugh at you if you snore too loud.  If you need to yell so hard that your voice cracks and your knees fail I will hold you up and yell with you. If you get so angry you punch your hands red I will ice your knuckles and tell you that wounds heal both inside and out, and just like the cold that is harsh and burning, I will always be the warmth to soothe you and make you feel better. I will love you.

A high school teacher’s list of 100 wisest words:

1. There are plenty of ways to enter a pool. The stairs is not one of them.2. Never cancel dinner plans by text message.3. Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.4. If a street performer makes you stop walking, you owe him a buck.5. Always use ‘we’ when referring to your home team or your government.6. When entrusted with a secret, keep it.7. Don’t underestimate free throws in a game of ‘horse’.8. Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.9. Don’t dumb it down.10. You only get one chance to notice a new haircut.11. If you’re staying more than one night, unpack.12. Never park in front of a bar.13. Expect the seat in front of you to recline. Prepare accordingly.14. Keep a picture of your first fish, first car, and first boy/girlfriend.15. Hold your heroes to a high standard.16. A suntan is earned, not bought.17. Never lie to your doctor.18. All guns are loaded.19. Don’t mention sunburns. Believe me, they know.20. The best way to show thanks is to wear it. Even if it’s only once.21. Take a va…
If you're having a bad day, I hope tomorrow is better and I hope you know youre wonderful, and I hope you know that somewhere, someone is wishing they could hold you close enough to feel your heartbeat against their paper thin skin.

A list of nice sounds:

Rustling of paperWind whistling through the nightStaccato beats of typingHeels clicking on tiled floorsScratching of pencils on paperThe rhythm of your own heart when you breathe underwaterLaughterSleepy mumblesThe susurrus of rain

- clementine Von radics

I stopped going to therapy because I knew my therapist was right and I wanted to keep being wrong. I wanted to keep my bad habits like charms on a bracelet. I did not want to be brave. I think I like my brain best in a bar fight with my heart. I think I like myself a little broken. I’m ok if that makes me less loved. I like poetry better than therapy anyway. The poems never judge me for healing wrong. 

This is what they call us, d.a.s

They call us killers, honey,  I say with teeth clenched around your jugular.  You’ve got them graveyard hands,  nails dredged up from diamond mines,  bones screaming bloody murder.  I wear combat boots and only smoke Camels,  like how you look with a noose around your neck. Teach me to breathe poetry in the hollows  of your spine, bruise my name down your back.  With teeth made of cigarette smoke  and wrists of chewed leather,  I keep you perched on pretty legs  in the passenger seat of my father’s old car,  radio turned to love songs we never learned to sing.  We weren’t made for that marrying kind of tender;  we kiss like addicts hungry for a hit. We are fighters, not lovers –  poets who plot murders and get drunk  to find God or our mothers’ ghosts,  spend all our time applying assonance to bar fights.  You’re good for alliterations and throwing punches,  you keep the boys hungry and on their knees.  I’m not good for much at all, baby,  A useless kid with knuckles bruised from living – Killers, honey, ki…
Some people are so dense it makes you cringe literally, and send shivers up your spine and make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up because they are legitimately that ridiculously ignorant and pathetic and stupid

pickup lines for an emotional burnout with a poet complex

I place my hands on your throat 
and hear a chasm humming.
You will spill it open at one in the morning
and I will surround you from every direction.
I will be careful when I swallow you up
because the world has gotten too loud.
I will bury you under my warm grave.
You will tell me the ugly things,
I will bathe them in your verse.
I will serve them in your meter
and ignore nine out of ten dentists to
kiss the sugar in between your rotting teeth.I will hold your hair back while you
vomit depressing stanza after stanza.I will understand that you love like sickness,
that you let yourself get infected
whenever it seems like someone
will listen to you.I will break your stoic like an eggshell,
even if it gets my hands messy,
even though I have never gotten over
the childish fear of finding a dead thing inside.
If there is ever something dead inside,
we will bury the broken embryo in a box
in the backyard, and I will wash old hurt
out of your sleeves with laundry soap.I will understand that even if you never ask,

The alternate reality of my hypothetical self-contained love.

In a parallel universe,
the Truckee River floods every two years.
My life is punctuated by muddy waters, fallen trees,
the corpses of farm animals
bloated and damp.

Birthdays don’t exist.
I get the spontaneous urge
to kiss you on the last day in November.

In a parallel universe,
we are still together.
Our love exists as a snake bite 
and I am the one that is supposed to 
suck the venom out.

Each time a deer gets hit by a car
the car dies.

My brother sits in his room,
sweating, alone
tasting steel with that gun in his mouth.
In a parallel universe, he doesn’t take it out.

I am telling myself I want love
I am telling myself I only want love 

In a parallel universe, 
We are all making the same beautiful mistakes.

Part of me is made of glass, and also, I love you.

The French called this time of day “l’heure bleue.” To the English it was “the gloaming.” The very word “gloaming” reverberates, echoes—the gloaming, the glimmer, the glitter, the glisten, the glamour—carrying in its consonants the images of houses shuttering, gardens darkening, grass-lined rivers slipping through the shadows. During the blue nights you think the end of day will never come. As the blue nights draw to a close (and they will, and they do) you experience an actual chill, an apprehension of illness, at the moment you first notice: the blue light is going, the days are already shortening, the summer is gone.

11 things to know at 25(ish)

Don't get stuckMoveTravelTake a classTake a riskThere is a season for wildness and a season for settledness and know that this is neither. This season is about becoming.Don't lose yourself at happy hour, but don't lose yourself on the corporate ladder either.Stop every once in a while and go out to coffee or climb in bed with your journal.Walk closely with people you love.Don't get stuck  in the past, and don't try to fast forward yourself into a future you haven't yet earned.Give todat all the love and intensity and courage you can and keep travelling honestly along life's path.

tips on how to be a happier self:

Develop a healthy relationship with food. If you're hungry, eat. If you're full, don't eat. Eat vegetables to be good to your body, but eat ice cream to b good to your soul.Takes pictures of yourself frequently. Chronicle your life. Selfies are completely underrated. Even if the pictures are unflattering, keep them anyway. There will always be mountains and cities and building, but you will never look the same way you did in that one moment in time.Your worth does not depend on how desirable someone finds you. Spend less time in front of the mirror and more time with people who make you feel beautiful.Close doors. Don't hold onto things that no longer brings you happiness and do not help you grow as a person. It is okay to walk away from toxic relationships. You are not weak for letting go.Forgive yourself. We all have something in our pasts that we are ashamed of, but they only weigh us down if we allow them to. make amends with the old you and work every day to becom…

You deserve the kind of love you would give someone else.

It’s not that I don’t love you.
It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you.
It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you.
It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked …
when I have a daughter, I will name her Saoirse which means freedom, she shall be the gust of wind wafting through the forest, the harbinger of a storm, the susurrus of waves.

Of course ghosts are real, they hide inside your bones.


- Ellison, Two Days With You Felt Like An Eternity And I Want That Back

We walked through the cemetery
looking at graves
and the names of people
we will never know

I never knew comfortable silence
until you.

We climbed trains 
peeking through the windows
at places that haven’t been touched 
in a while

I never knew I could share adventure
until you

We walked along the tracks
to the park, where we sat by the water
and watched the sun slowly start to set
and then began to head back

I never knew I could feel safe outside at night
until you

I learned you like the color green
your favorite number is thirteen
and that you aren’t your parents’ favorite
and that you are perfect

and I never knew that people like you existed
until you

- Siobhan, the littlest adventure

get down on one knee to tie my shoelaces before you get down to propose.
lead me up a mountain before you have my father lead me down an aisle.
hold my hand to steady my balance before you hold it as we drive across town.
show me the world before you give it to me.

there’s a lot to see, and I intend on seeing it all.
if you are lucky, maybe I’ll want to travel your veins and thoughts and heart as much as I want to travel this world.
maybe if you come with me, I can see both;

the world around me, and the one I could have with you.

-Ellison, She was my adventure

She was always a bit too
too dangerous
for me.

She wanted to see the stars
from the top of 
the highest building;

I could always see them
in her eyes.
Wake up at 3 am, whilst most of the world is still asleep and escape the snare of a your very own world, a cherished splinter of your mind – and run; wake up at 3 in the afternoon, relish the cozy comfort of your bed but also the liberty to stay in your reverie and eat chocolate cake for breakfast. 
Sneak out of your bedroom at midnight and tiptoe past your parents’ door at dawn – try to not act tipsy at the breakfast table, pop an Advil and move on;  stay inside your room all night, rummage through old letters and photographs, have a nostalgic conversation with your best-friend and listen to music that makes you happy. 
Do not watch television, create something instead – rely on art as escapism;  watch television and observe how they cry or smirk or behave when they are in love, use them as creative inspiration but be unique. 
Blend in the crowd, be just another speck of paint on a painter’s shirt, try mediocrity and concur; do not conform to social norms – stand out and rise against, be …

- Siobhan, un(tit)led

we were so close, on a night when the music could mean forever,
when the smoke burned our lungs and the sparks filled the air,
we were so close to something,
we ate and laughed and danced,
everything happened so fast, but
She holds her hair up with only two chopsticks and a bobby pin.

Think Atlas. Think shoulders.

When your sadness starts to feast, she carries the light down from the mountain and hands it to you, tells you to set it on fire.

Think Prometheus. Think savior.
On Sunday, she steps out of the shower and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than the way she walks towards you with a towel on her head, water clinging to her like there is nowhere else it would rather be.

Think Aphrodite. Think sea foam.

You love her like mythology.
You love her like the impossible stories of Gods and monsters.

When she sings, think fairies.

Think mermaids. Think hymns.

She is the face of the river that Narcissus fell in love with, confusing hers for his own.

She is Medusa’s fury,
Athena’s strength,
Achelois’ healing.

You are kissing her in a crowded restaurant and it feels like praying.
You are watching her instead of the meteor shower and you don’t even notice.

How to go on with it:

1. Always carry earphones with you wherever you go. Nothing better than listening to music while people watching in public transport.
2. As pretentious as it sounds, a cup of tea in the afternoon is always good for you. Hell you don’t have to drink it reading some Bukowski shit or The Great Gatsby. 
3. Take good polaroid pictures. Or just take good pictures of objects, strangers, your friends, or yourself.
4. Make art. Create something and give a portion of yourself to it. Show it. Or keep it in a box under you bed. It’s always nice to have something tangible that speaks about you.
5. Try going to places by yourself.Especially coffee shops. There’s just something strangely exciting with being by yourself and acting like you got it all together when deep inside your anxious as fuck on what to order at the counter.
6. Some days you’re going to ace the test but other days you wont. Whatever it is, it doesn’t measure who you are as a person. It’s just a math exam. It won’t matter in 10 years.

We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright.

You are going to be sad. You’re going to want to scream and punch things. 
Do it.
Let out every ounce of anger you have.
Sit on the floor and cry until you feel numb. 
Listen to songs that make your heart sink to your feet.
Write angry letters to all the people who have broken you, left you, ignored you or hurt you.
Throw your hairbrush at the wall.
Do it twelve times.
Do it until you feel like you can breathe again.You’re going to be sad.
You’re going to want to hurt yourself.
Don’t you dare do it.
Sit on the floor and watch cartoons like you did when you were little.
Listen to songs that make you want to dance around your bedroom in your underwear at 3 A.M.
Make paper airplanes out of those angry letters and watch them soar into the fireplace.
Brush all the knots out of your hair and say “I am worth it” into the mirror.
Say it twelve times.
Say it until you feel like you can breathe again.You’re going to be sad.
You’re going to get through it.
(When you touch me, if feels like you're setting every atom I am composed of, on fire and my god, does that feel wonderful.)

“you tell me to breathe and i’m trying not to think about it on a constant basis but you know my brain only goes one speed and it’s train-wreck fast; i’ve dreamt about you the last three nights and every time waking up is a fucking nightmare”


- Blythe Baird, High School

This is how to run a stick of Chapstick down the black boxes on your scantron so the grading machine skips the wrong answers. This is how to honor roll. Hell, this is how to National Honor Society. This is being voted “Most Likely to Marry for Money” or “Talks the Most, Says the Least” for senior superlatives. This is stepping around the kids having panic attacks in the hallway. This is being the kid having a panic attack in the hallway. This is making the A with purple moons stamped under both eyes. We had to try. This is telling the ACT supervisor you have ADHD to get extra time. Today, the average high school student has the same anxiety levels as the average 1950’s psychiatric patient. We know the Pythagorean theorem by heart, but short-circuit when asked “How are you?” We don’t know. We don’t know. That wasn’t on the study guide. We usually know the answer, but rarely know ourselves.
I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my headand walk with you through that lucentwavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fearI would like to give you the silverbranch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing inI would like to be the airthat inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

— Gage Wallace, “How We Learned to Love”

When firearms were first made widely available during wartime, many soldiers still preferred to use the bow and arrow. It is thought that if the shooter could see the eyes of the man he was killing, he never would have fired. This is how we have learned to love.
do you ever meet a person and know just by looking at them that you’d live a life of extreme disrepute in a cottage somewhere in the Scottish moors where you’d wake up at noon and have lazy sex and then not talk to each other for the rest of the day except to occasionally walk by one another and touch palms briefly only to sit out in the garden past 1AM in wonky plastic chairs smoking cigarettes and fervently discussing the news and crime and politics
he’s lying wrapped in a sheet and he’s got a contented smile on his little face and his arms are behind his head and he sighs loudly and murmurs “we could do the friend thing.” I tip my head back and laugh because he hasn’t yet learned to keep his hands away from me. “we can’t be friends,” I snort. his eyes turn imploring and he sets his jaw stubbornly and he grumbles “we can be friends, we just can’t be alone together. ever.” 

❝ If they don’t need you, it’s okay, you do not live for other people. ❞

i was your midnight and you were my metaphor. you were never really mine and i was only a moment lovers run to out of flushed desperation. sadly, you were greatly mistaken in the way you held me. i am more than midnight; i am daylight. i am warmth. i make your ribs rattle and sternum fracture. are you done with embarrassing me? i am not wilting flowers, but a storm. my love uproots trees and engulfs captains whole. my love ravages hearts and heals old, open wounds. yet though my bones are steel, my heart is still flesh. she beats carefully with every inhale and exhale. she beats steadily; she trusts the way she is cupped between you and i. she beats lovingly and she remembers all your poems. she remembers the way your hold pencils and the way you shake when you cry. she will soon forget; do not worry. she will forget you and the hours it took to rinse you out of my mouth. my love forgives. my love forgets

The Awful Truth

"One day, whether you
are 14,
or 65

you will stumble upon
someone who will start
a fire in you that cannot die.

However, the saddest,
most awful truth
you will ever come to find––

is they are not always
with whom we spend our lives."

— Beau Taplin


i am sure this poem didn’t mean
to start with you, but i still have your
t-shirt and your jacket. your fingerprints
are still on the furniture and i still
don’t know how to name these poems without
thinking of your hands. i was certain your
galaxies fit mine, that you knew every inch of
my skin, that God himself spoke your name into my mouth, 
but you excused yourself from dinner one night
and stopped returning my calls.
you called me a constellation once, but
stars do not become red giants. stars don’t
swallow darkness whole and cry over silly boys.
stars don’t tear themselves out of the sky to
hold a boy who doesn’t know himself. i saw your
name on a railway on the way to work the other day. 
i wanted to take it with me, but he spelled his
name wrong. he was wrong, i cried. i smeared my mascara.
i erased it, but i am still thinking about how to call you.
you called me a constellation once
but i don’t remember how to dance; 
i don’t remember a sky without you anymore.
I think it’s absolutely crazy how feelings can flicker so quickly, deteriorate so easily. One minute my ears are filled with the sound of your soothing voice complementing my every thought, mistake and action- then the next you plaster me with doubt, mentally suffocating me with criticism. I don’t know which is the truth and which is the lie, or what hurts more; the compliments or the suffocation. Weird isn’t it. I am not sad because your feelings changed, or that you lack understanding. No. I am sad that you are letting go of someone who was willing to change themselves into a better person. Change for you. All the care and feeling I have towards you is being thrown away. You let go of that, you let go of me. And you will never find that again. Another girl? Sure, but not the feelings I had. No matter how hard you search. Never. Giving you a chance and showing the slightest bit of affection was an ocean of effort. Appreciate me. Patience is all we needed, all you needed. But waiting …

I don’t know what to say to you except that it tore the heart out of my body saying goodbye to you.

I remember there was one time in class where we had to read the surrealist manifesto and my professor asked us what’s more bizarre, reality or our perception of reality or our dreams and we could all tell whatever we said would be the wrong answer.
then he looked at rebecca and said ‘rebecca, you are going to die at 3pm on tuesday’ and her face turned bright red and she looked at me and i looked at him and he said ‘what if you were going to die at 3pm on tuesday. you might. i dont know.’ and she said ‘you’re making me uncomfortable’ and he said ‘would you be sitting here right now if you knew you were going to die in four days’ and she said ‘no.’ he said ‘then why are you here.’ and she looked at me and i shrugged and he said ‘get out. if you would rather be anywhere else than right here at this very moment, you need to leave. you’re wasting your life because you subconsciously assume you will be alive infinitely. you’re delusional. stop wasting your life.’ and she wouldnt get up and…
Take a deep breath. Inhale, exhale.
If the world feels heavy on your chest now, remember that your ribcage was once more cartilage than bone. Remember the soft craters on your head where the plates of your skull had yet to meet and fuse together. There was a day when all your darkness exploded into a world of light — you opened your eyes and saw everything for the first time. You, that writhing collection of cosmic debris. Little scraps of universe, eyes that rolled around in your head like glass marbles, like revolving planets, gathering evidence and studying the world in muted wonder. You were such a tiny, vulnerable thing. Your mother used to hold you in the crook of her arm and whisper, “How can I ever protect you?”
In this world of hard angles and sharp corners, it’s a miracle that you are here today. That you survived, and will continue to survive. Listen, I’m not saying you won’t suffer. I’m not saying it’s gonna be easy. Not at all. Life is a bloody-knuckled fistfight, and if…

❝ I love you and I always will and I am sorry. What a useless word. ❞

And then I felt sad because I realized that once people are broken in certain ways, they can’t ever be fixed, and this is something nobody ever tells you when you are young and it never fails to surprise you as you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it’s already happened.
to be held by someone who knows what you really areto be held by someone who accepts who you really areto be held by someone who loves you(without them being held by you)

Derek Walcott, from Love After Love

You will
love again
the stranger
who was yourself.

this is the etymology of us:

you places your fingertips
on my heart and ignited
something profound
i looked at you
and caught a glimpse of
this was the birth of us
but it was also
the destruction.
this is how we came
to be.


he met me at my worst pointafter my worst haircutin my worst shoesrain pouringeyes puffyhe still fell in love
so I have this friend who is currently miles away from where I am and I miss her and she's with this amazing guy and God I fucking hope they last, because I have not seen something so beautiful in such a long long time.

before a beginning, an end

i keep drafts of break-up lettersfor girlfriends nowfor girlfriends beforefor friends i might leavefor acquaintances i’ll ask outjust in case

“Sometimes, as we’re stumbling along in the dark, we hit something good.”

-Susan Ee
i. An old and tired photograph. You leaning into the sun, leaning out of love,
you wear a white dress and you are laughing.
The joke is your hand softly curled around his upper arm; the joke is his eyes intent on your mouth. The joke is a private one between two archetypes of a romance novel:
he has broad shoulders and very green eyes, green like sea glass,
and you don’t mind when your lipstick smudges. ii. I am the punchline. iii. After that picture was taken, we went home and made love
in the dark, your pupils so enlarged I nearly fell inside them. I didn’t know yet
and you never had. All things, love included, have the propensity to leave you starved. iv. I spent three months getting rid of all of your things, as if doing it over a longer period of time
meant you somehow left me slower. Or that there would always be something to bring you back.
As if one day you’d remember your purple hairbrush.
Or your silk nightgown. Or my shaking hands. Like you couldn’t just get a new hairbrush from the supermarke…
You and I are always apologizing to one another, always surrendering with our words and with our bodies, contorting ourselves into shapes just to please the other because we want them to stay. 
We don’t want to scare them off.  We apologize so much we’ve developed a language around them. We apologize for bothering each other with our honesty, for laying bare our skeletons, for stripping ourselves down to our secret skins.
The word apology comes from “apologia,” meaning “defense” or “justification.”  But since when did who we are become something that we had to justify?  The world is always telling us to apologize for our passion when the only thing we should ever be doing is celebrating it.
Stop apologizing for who you are. 
If you’re a heart-in-your-throat kind of girl, I want that.  If you’re all books and midnight talks about philosophy, I want that. 
I want all of you, the devastating lows and the euphoric highs. That’s what a relationship is. I didn’t sign up for your Sunday best.