Self-help, Irana Douer
self-portrait
styofa doing anything
Today's Document

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣

izzy's playlists!
Not today Justin
almost home

Origami Around

Love Begins

No title available
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
tumblr dot com
sheepfilms
todays bird
Jules of Nature
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
will byers stan first human second
NASA
Three Goblin Art
No title available

JBB: An Artblog!
seen from China

seen from Austria
seen from Belgium

seen from United States
seen from Mexico

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Jamaica
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@introspectiveelephant
Self-help, Irana Douer
self-portrait
“I just need a fucking break.”
— J.T. Barnett
The Winter Doctor - Watcher of the Dark
My eyes are tired
The sun sleeps for most of the day
But I remain a watcher of the night
And with darkness comes death,
dying,
death of joy and comfort
birth of pain and suffering - I must watch over
and feebly attempt to fix, play god.
and while the sun and the rest of the world shields their eyes, cover themselves, keep out the pain
I have but to keep my eyes peeled
The agony washing over me while I wait for the new moon to drop and the sun to open its eyes once again.
Hamster on a wheel
Why do I only write when I'm sad.
I can no longer hide my sorrow in the fake creases my eyes make, not hide sorrow in the depths of my dimples, as I try to wear a smile that no longer fits me. A size too small for my misery.
I can no longer satisfy the sinking ache in my chest with hot silent tears as I walk down the busy harbour. I feel the need to bawl, butI will not be taken for a mad lady bawling in public. I will hold it all in my chest, fearing that with every breath I may make a peep and hear a collossal roar ripping from my mouth, vibrating through to the cores of the people around me.
My pain point is my inadequacy. Unable to excel at what I am passionate about, unable to feel passionate, unable unable just unable to do diddly squat. What is the point of anything if I don't believe in the magic of what I do in healing the world even by an inch?
How long will I carry on pushing through with the motions of life, with no spark along the way?
I am a hamster running on its wheel.
it’s no longer your arms that hold me at night
but rather the thick air that wraps itself around me
while I sob
my pillow cries me to sleep
there’s a sinking in my chest and I can’t explain it
Xhe
Once I used to be able to put pen to paper Once I was able to bleed my pains away until it congealed and dried around me but out of me I used the blood of my poisonous pain to write my sorrows out of the many bridges abandoned, as good as burnt Looking for affection was never harder.
There is a soul though Xhe sits miles away from me, but xe see me Xhe loves me Xe holds me and looks at me longingly Xhe wipes tears that never fell on my cheeks Xe is the one I will marry and hug in the lazy rain
My heart is tired from the numerous betrayals, but from Xe.
Starry Eyed
I’m in so much pain that I wail when I cry as I sit cross-legged on the floor.
I feel betrayed. I trust no one. I choose numbness daily instead of the pain. I don’t have faith that there is love. It all feels fake.
I don’t have the strength it takes to love anyone. I gave and gave and now I have nothing left to give myself. I just hurt and pause and hurt again. Feeling a flicker of happiness is bewildering - it’s as if I never understood happiness, like I never experienced a racing heart, never experienced overwhelming passion when I saw my lover’s face.
Now - it’s just subdued silence. An acceptance of what I’ve been given, like a card game I’m playing with fate. The universe laughed at me when I was 16 and yet it laughs at me again.
I don’t know how to be starry eyed. I can’t love the way I used to.
concept: it’s a friday night. people are out partying but we’re happy at your apartment, just the two of us. we spend the whole night watching bad horror movies and giving each other shitty stick and poke tattoos. we watch the sunrise from your bed while soft music plays quietly. we fall asleep wrapped up in each other’s arms
girls are very good and I am going to convince you why
each girl uses a different shampoo scent that makes them smell good
they have soft skin
thick thighs for pillows
cute faces to squish
soft hands to hold
cute baby voices when they see something cute (you, a dog, or a baby)
they are clean
precious
cute
every woman is beautiful
cute nicknames
cute laughs and smiles
small texts that make you smile
they always have the best date ideas
they dream!!
Dried Petals
We hid flowers, white and frail, in old books Just like we hid heart ache in the folds of our tired eyelids Come another day, we will stumble across those petals, Aged by time in the same way we’ve been weathered down by the seasons Their potent fragrance stirring our nostalgia We revisit a myriad of golden moments encompassed within a momentary waft of a single flower.
My sex cannot be packaged. My sex is magic. It is part of a bigger story. I am whole. I exist when you are not fucking me.
Brenna Twohy, “Fantastic Breasts and Where To Find Them” (via buttonpoetry)
Solitude looks good on you and being with the ones you love during Sundays looks even better.
Juansen Dizon, A Day For Human Love & Connection (via juansendizon)
(ENG) - “If life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” - I’ve been trying to live this saying for weeks now. But… the author forgot about something: For tasty lemonade you need a lot (I mean: a LOT) of sugar. So, is somebody out there who has tons of sugar for me? Please leave it in my mailbox. Thank you.
(DE) - „Wenn das Leben dir Zitronen gibt, mach Limonade draus.“ - diesen Spruch versuche ich seit Wochen umzusetzen. Was der Urheber dieses Zitats aber vergisst: Für Zitronenlimo braucht man noch Tonnen von Zucker. Hat Jemand welchen für mich, der solle ihn mir doch bitte ins Postfach schießen. Vielen Dank. #sauermachtfrustig