[flowrrs4u]

I am good. I am loved.

[heavenandhome]

“What I Wish to Say When Asked About Soulmates”

And I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t always my sisters.

Rocking chairs, finally peaceful in a home of our making.

I want them to live lives full of love, and raise children who have eyes and smiles the same as theirs.

Yet selfishly, in the end, I hope it is as it was in the very beginning.

Just us.

Talking and laughing at the joys and despairs of long lives well lived, as the porch lights inevitably dim.

[heavenandhome]

Vacillator

Sex without love

Vacillator

Please don’t be gentle

I am not fragile

There is no hurt that comes from hands that has not been felt

It’s nothing I wouldn’t do to myself

It hurts and it’s grotesque.

Skin on skin.

When on when?

I will punish myself over and over again.

Please do not be gentle

I want to hurt

Hurt me

Hurt me in a way that is a choice

That feels like a gamble.

I am not delicate.

I am a storm.

Pull it out of me

A scream into the void

Make it hurt

I would have done it all to myself.

[floridakilo]

inscription that i am obsessed with

[weltenwellen]

Maya C. Popa, from “Spring”, Wound Is the Origin of Wonder

[eternaldream222]

[heavenandhome]

Sisterhood

I was never given the opportunity to be a daughter

To feel the conditional love of a mother or father.

However I was given the greatest gift of being born a sister.

To feel the unconditional love of a sister.

To feel the pull and connection of our hearts when we endure any over bearing emotion.

To share in joy and in laughter.

To share in grief and in sorrow.

To share tales of dreams that were dashed or dreams that were given shape and form.

I do not have but one heart I possess three.

I carry the burdens and the triumphs of my sisters.

We distribute the weight between 6 hands.

Calloused from the carpentry of peace.

We raise eachother into the women we are and will become.

We built sanctuaries on barren land and extended olive branches to burdens that we thought were bygone.

We climbed trees, sang songs and baked mud pies while bombs were thrown outside.

The love is pure and raw and real.

And if you asked me to paint it I’d choose shades of true blue.

[oix]

[danger]

Crazy Morning by  Leslie Perche

[spookies-moved]

look at this cutie!!!

[petalya]

I think I only want love if it’s light and airy (can still be passionate and intense too) and freeing. I don’t want love to feel like trekking through mud. It can’t be dark, it can’t be maladaptive, it can’t be walking on eggshells, it can’t be restricting, it can’t be stressful, it can’t feel like a full time job. Does it have to be that serious? Is it worth it? I’m just thinking about how even from preteen age we’re told that we’re silly for being blissfuly in love, and the narrative around love is centered around it being a chore, eventually becoming dull, or arguably becoming lifeless or unhealthy..and no one bats an eye at that..why should it be that way

[heavenandhome]

there is an old picture of us that i will look at from time to time

we are laying in your bed with the cat between our legs. you are laughing. i forget about what now. and you are looking at me

oh god are you looking at me. with those eyes. the same eyes i would watch close to go to sleep and wake up to in the morning.

this is my proof

this picture is proof that you did love me. no matter how fleeting that feeling was for you. you did love me like you once said you did. i was your person and you were mine. sometimes i still think you are. that is now fleeting like i now realize all feelings are.

but there we are in that picture. smiling and in love. that will forever be encapsulated in this small proof of a love that i will look for in all lifetimes and timelines.

[heavenandhome]

i would give any amount of fortune to be in love like i was.

to wake up and instantly think of your face in the morning.

to believe you when you told me you loved me or missed me and didn’t just want me around when it was a convenience for you and your well being

i would do anything to be able to say “this is what i waited for. you are the man i waited for”

i want to be loved and feel like i mean something to someone.

you take and take and then take some more and i am left so empty i can barely breathe in the morning.

and i want to escape it but it seems like every road and every song and every passing of every day leads me to you

i don’t know where it starts and i don’t know where it ends. it a big circle of pain and disappointment in love.

i love you but i want it to stop

i want to be the woman i was a year ago

being okay alone. thinking of my life alone. dreaming of small houses and acoustic songs in my living room and being in love, with myself

i want to forget what it’s like to be so in love that it’s all you can dream about. the other persons eyes are all you want to look at before you fall alsleep.

now all i see is you in the home of my dreams. and the songs i was saving for my peaceful life alone. i want to tear it all down.

i want to be okay again.

[inianmoon]

[heavenandhome]

if you still decide to leave

for the first few weeks i will lay in bed remembering how it felt to fall asleep next to you and wake up to your morning breath and put my cold feet on your legs (staring at the ceiling, thinking will be my only activity)

the next step will be going to town without vomiting at the sight of all things that remind me of you (i will not be able to go on drives without thinking about crossing the double line)

i will slowly forget the way your voice sounds or the smell of your clothes after a long day. (things will start to get easier, forgetting will make things easier)

i go to the ocean two months after i can’t remember what books you talked about with your mother. i wish to walk into the ocean and let it swallow me whole. pain and all. (i pick up my belongings and take the two hour drive home, in silence, with the windows down)

[heavenandhome]

“grim reapers day off”

he walked through a big field with orange wildflowers

the cattle were grazing far in the distance and he could hear a farmer cutting the lawn

he likes to admire the living things not thinking about the inevitable death of it all

the flowers will wilt and eventually die as summer passes

heart failure will strike the farmer in his old age leaving a widow to sit in her rocking chair all alone on the porch

the cattle will line up at the slaughterhouse unaware of there untimely and bloody death

but today he would wander though the field and admire this life

he would hang up his black robe and put on his straw hat and be one with the wildflowers, the cattle and the farmer

because death is heavy and even some days the grim reaper needs a day to be with the living

[wildexpeditions]