love is poison
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@66pills
love is poison
i still leave the door unlocked, i don’t know why
i’ve been cutting flowers and sticking them on my bedroom wall, and some have been falling on the floor through the tape and i’ve been sweeping my goddamn floor every day but they keep falling and rotting and they’ve somehow drilled through the cracks of my tiles and they keep reminding me that i am them and that is my autobiography in a few words
i sleep on my stomach on account of my delicate wings.
I am a woman and i am here, so much more than that of which you define me to be. I am here, screaming, charcoal bags under my eyes, and crooked lips, i am here, unedited and real. My skin and my story on display; because women like me, in hiding is where they are suffocated. Like a bird in a cage, no will to sing for life, no will to comb my hair at night; i am a fire-cracker, an explosion, a hurricane of bad moments and good. love them for their burning hearts and flame filled eyes; love them for the unconditional love that flows through their veins, love them for their faults and their moments of weakness, or open the cage and let them be what nature designed them to be.
I am an open book, unashamed, and i am proudly bearing every page for the world to see that i am standing here, on this stage life has me plastered on,
i am unafraid and i will love my faults other people have shamed me for.
I have loved hard, and will continue to do so, because i am a woman and i am here, and i am not afraid to love myself. I hope you can love me too, or let me be.
7 November. Should I be grateful or should I curse the fact that despite all misfortune I can still feel love, an unearthly love but still for earthly objects.
Franz Kafka, Diaries (via kafkas-diaries)
I cannot rid myself of the feeling that I’m not in the right place.
Franz Kafka, Advocates (via wordsnquotes)
take me back (major sad face)
Where can my lovers touch me when all of me hurts? Certainly not my body. Certainly not my heart.
molly burton | fragile (via tinyowlaesthetics)
‘’He kissed me 45 times on my forehead and continued to do so after i told him there was not enough space. As if i was an endless highway he wanted his car to break down on; bury his limbs on the small patch of grass next to the concrete, he thought his hands had the capacity to delete me: as if censoring my soul would make him the epitome of love.’’
i had once been a girl, a long time ago, had paintings of war zones on my bedroom wall; woke up drenched in my fault, there is regret floating in the sewers underneath my house; i had told him the weakest part of me were my hands for i was holding on to the past for too long, i kissed him 100 times, maybe more, trying to smother the girl i once had been, forgot how to love on the bench near the sea, he is a fire-cracker, an explosion, a steady home for my weary bones to live, he came into my life and emptied my room of sin as if trying to stick plasters all over my gaping wounds; and still wonders why he wakes up and finds his sheets covered in blood
‘’ Aunt Judith, i am so afraid to crawll out of my web-filled shell that i find pieces of me rotting and falling behind me as i walk, black and blue ligaments and muscle decaying with every breath that leaves my body; love used to run over my bones like holy water cleansing my sins away as it rolled from my lovers palms but now i am being suffocated like a bird in a cage no will to sing for life no will to comb my hair at night love curls its airt-tight and thorn-filled fingers around my throat i am a dog being dragged on the asphalt with a leash’’
i had forgotten what it meant to grow, now all i do is survive.
my heart is very tired and sad
don’t you dare lover, take time to caress my cheek like the days where we were young and bursting at the seems for my tears will stain your palm and when you are 40 years old, and 50 years old with your wife and with your kids don’t you dare tell them why your hands are painted black ‘’it was from a lover,’’ you will say, ‘’i taught her how to love, and she taught me how to leave,’’
I had been a mother for 6 weeks That’s all i have to say
As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
Anne Sexton (via quotethat)
and my heart, which is very big, I promise it is very large, a monster of sorts, takes it all in— all in comes the fury of love.
Anne Sexton, Excerpt of The Big Heart from The Complete Poems (via florizels)