“Crying, my body turns to dark petals.”
— Li-Young Lee, from Book of my Nights; Stations of the Sea.
trying on a metaphor

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@euterpc
“Crying, my body turns to dark petals.”
— Li-Young Lee, from Book of my Nights; Stations of the Sea.
Emily Palermo, “What I Could Never Confess Without Some Bravado” // Hieu Minh Nguyen, “Pig” // Richard Siken, “Planet of Love” // Mary Oliver, “Dogfish”
Leila Chatti, “Faulty”
Haruki Murakami, “Norwegian Wood”
Olga Tokarczuk, Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead (translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones)
serotonin is from trying new hair products & that shit only
Someone: why do u always say u feel sick
Me: because, my sweet dude, I literally cannot determine the line between my mental illness and physical unwellness anymore. I am Literally Always Ready To Die I am in a constant state of uncomfort my guy it always makes me feel like I'm gonna be ridin the queasy train to regretville
Me: haha
“All of a sudden two decades have passed and you still have not kissed anyone with tongue, or kissed anyone at all for that matter, or had a 3 AM conversation with someone who would rather look into your eyes for ten minutes straight than talk. You have never worn a lover’s sweater or “forgotten” it at home in your bedroom just so you would have an excuse to see them again. You have never even stood face-to-face with someone who makes your hands shake so hard it feels like they’re both having a separate anxiety attack. This causes you much guilt and self-blame and sadness but above all, an overwhelming curiosity. Are you really that ugly, that unwanted, that uninteresting, that boring, that no one, absolutely no one, has ever looked at you like the only thing on earth? The answer is no. The better answer is that someone out there, somewhere in the world, is “wondering what it’s like to meet someone like you,” and they have two decades worth of love stored in their veins like a shoot-‘em-up drug, and they’re just about ready to inject it into someone else’s bloodstream. All you have to do is roll up your sleeves and wait for it to happen. At times you felt so lonely you could stand at the edge of a cliff with nothing beneath you but air and grass and a long, long way down, and you’d still feel emptier than that canyon itself. Maybe you even danced with yourself alone in your room a few times, arms outstretched around a ghost, pretending someone else’s hands were on your waist, someone else’s eyes boring into yours. Or maybe you fell temporarily in love with strangers on public transportation, fell in love with anybody who so much as accidentally brushed your hand on the way past. For you, falling in love with dozens of people a day was a coping mechanism for not having anyone to love you in return. But people are not eggs and falling in love with a dozen of them does not mean your shell will remain uncracked. One day you’re going to hit the point where you’re so desperate for human contact that you’re going to snap in half and all your love will bleed out like egg yolk. But someone out there is eating a bowl of Ramen noodles right now, or putting on slippers, or settling into bed. They are doing all the normal things that you’ve done in your own life. They are just like you. They have cellulite and extra fat in all the wrong places and goals and fears and doubts and bad handwriting. The truth is that they are just like you, and being just like you, they’re looking for a lover too. They’re what you might call a soulmate. They think they’re all alone in feeling the way they do, but you’re really both two halves of a whole. And one day you’ll meet them, bump into them on the street, and your two halves will be put together, and you’ll make one.”
— Writings For Winter - For Twenty Year-Olds who have never been loved (via beepboopboopbeep)
no one's ever gonna love me. oh my bus is here
- the killing grounds
do you ever get in those moods where you don’t know how to feel and everything kinda feels mixed up and you’re just sitting there alone in your room trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with you
“Millions of people have decided not to be sensitive. They have grown thick skins around themselves just to avoid being hurt by anybody. But it is at great cost. Nobody can hurt them, but nobody can make them happy either.”
— Osho
loneliness really does advance and strengthen like once it makes a home in you it's so hard to feel like your place is with others and it's so easy to get out of practice at sharing who you are because by that point being on your own is an integral aspect of your existence and there's just no way to explain that to anybody
Just working on old comics, cleaning them up until I feel better about my life… Go read my comic:
https://www.thebreakfastguild.com/the-breakfast-guild-book-1
Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry written c. October 1931 featured in “The Diaries of Virginia Woolf,” | art (x) | Susan Sontag, As Consciousness Is Harnessed to Flesh | Beya Rebai - Robot | Florence and the Machine -No Choir | art (x), art (x) by Charlotte Ager
Do you forgive yourself for not earning the love you never had?
The ancient greeks really had graves for dogs. And they carved stuff on the stone like “carrying you here, I now feel as much grief as I felt joy when I carried you home” and “you never barked without reason, but now you are silent”. The human urge to tell a story spans centuries and millennia, and the loss of a really good dog makes you want to tell people - even people centuries in the future, who will never know your name - that there once was a dog who was a very good girl, but now she no longer is and you aren’t sure what to do with all this sorrow.
⋰ i’m sorry for what i turned out to be ⋱