Authorness.

My name is Kaitlin.

[tristamateer]

WICKED WITCH OF THE EAST PRAYS TO THE HOUSE THAT FALLS ON HER if I have caused harm, let it be forgiven. if I have spread fear, let it cede to joy. grant me the luck to be remembered for something other than the hearts I have hollowed and the mess I have wrought with my hands. blame me not for the sins of my family. if death may be quick, let it be quick.

Trista Mateer (via tristamateer)

[welovebooksactually-blog]

The sea is in a sweat. More salt, more salt. The salt chain moves faster. You keep dissolving but you never finish your book, it is a roaring thirst, the jaws of a lion ajar through the night, roaring without stop. More water, more water.

Echolation, Mani Rao (via welovebooksactually)

[heartcountry]

With the dust of Rome beneath our feet, I have to say, we were good and righteous once. We loved right and we never spoke our own names in vain. But like apples that fall from forbidden trees, we, too, learned to stumble into the wrong prayers. And the dawning realization will hit us that in the end we could have been better people. We could have created something good for ourselves instead of waiting for it. And never again would we forget what we were given. And never again would we unforgive ourselves for the mistakes that turned into decisions. We were made for gardens once, and my God, we loved what was holy. If there’s a place where we can be that way again, then it has a name that sounds like freedom. It has a name that sounds like forgiveness finally coming home.

Y.Z, answered prayer (via rustyvoices)

[freckledhips-deactivated2014103]

I love unmade beds. I love when people are drunk and crying and cannot be anything but honest in that moment. I love the look in people’s eyes when they realize they’re in love. I love the way people look when they first wake up and they’ve forgotten their surroundings. I love the gasp people take when their favorite character dies. I love when people close their eyes and drift to somewhere in the clouds. I fall in love with people and their honest moments all the time. I fall in love with their breakdowns and their smeared makeup and their daydreams. Honesty is just too beautiful to ever put into words.

(via toxuc)

[auteurstateofmind]

I’m a poet, the people I love will always be somewhere else.

Kait Rokowski (4/8/11 late night walk during CUPSI)

[fables-of-the-reconstruction-de]

The trees, the stars, and the blue hills ache with a meaning which can never be uttered in words.

Rabindranath Tagore (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)

[victoriousvocabulary]

It’s hell writing and it’s hell not writing. The only tolerable state is having just written.

Robert Hass (via victoriousvocabulary)

[fakesurprise]

Writing a poem to the other side of the mirror is watching breath mist on air, forming finger-words is staring into eyes that won’t stare back, is wishing for a lazy eye to explain the holes to expand the sadness into something solid is all we can ask for on both sides, is to caress the glass

[writingsforwinter]

[writingsforwinter]

I mentioned this earlier and feel bad repeating it, but over the past 4 or 5 years I have struggled with severe depression, this year beginning to take meds but in just the past few months I have had several hospital trips because of it.

I am trying to pay my parents back for the visit and also...

[authorness-blog]

It would mean the world to me if you would support one of my favorite authors in her time of need. 

[possibilityofliving]

I am figuring out which parts of my personality are mine 
and which ones I created to please you.

-The Dust On This Poem Could Choke You/ Lora Mathis lora-mathis (via possibilityofliving)

[poetryisrice]

If love exists, this is it.

riceispoetry (via riceispoetry)

[navk]

Silence is an accent. No two persons will ever sound the same.

Nav K (via navk)

[writingsforwinter]

The phrase “I love you” is made out of three simple syllables and three simple words that when strung together like all the planets on an orbit form an entire universe of great complexity.

But while this phrase may create a planetarium of the most breathtaking astronomy, while it is a full...

[allmymetaphors]

It is always like this: silent in my kitchen heating up yesterday’s cold coffee in the new white microwave. A white bedroom that doesn’t feel like mine yet. A white line down the court, down the carpet, down bathroom countertops, and this stove isn’t hot yet and my fingers are cold. . Some day I’ll be older, but it will always feel the same: a long list of names I’ve been meaning to call back. A heart attack. And I still need to shower, need to feel needed, need money to turn on the heater. My mother sends me checks and tells me to check in whenever I can. I scrub breakfast off the baking pan and water the plants. In the morning, I eat a glowing half of an orange and wish I was thinner. Chocolate for dinner, and folding up clothes. Counting tomorrows and swallowing yesterdays. It will always feel this way.

First Thing On a Monday Morning; Hannah Beth Ragland (via allmymetaphors)

[charmingdrummerboy-blog]

Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do.

-Sylvia Plath

[amanda-oaks]

Bravery isn’t fleeing. It’s kissing the teeth of something you know could eat you in an instant.

Lacey Roop (via amanda-oaks)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

There, I’ve said it: someone I was could have loved you.

Marty McConnell, from Miniature Bridges, Your Mouth (via violentwavesofemotion)