trying on a metaphor
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Love Begins
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Sweet Seals For You, Always
almost home
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@likerocksinmypockets
I feel like I need to see you just one last time. I need to look into your eyes and convince myself that this was the right choice. That the past 4 years haven't all been in vain. I need to push my lips against yours and feel nothing, because right now I feel everything. This is a compulsion; a necessity. I don't know if I can make it through this year without it.
in another world, when you are loved, you grow wings to show it. the bigger the love, the bigger the wings.
and a world that sees wings as the ultimate status symbol. celebrities with gigantic wings that cannot fly because they are too heavy. monarchs that have stylists to enlarge their (very stumpy) wings.
babies born with the soft proof of their parent’s love, babies flaking off feathers when their parents don’t care enough. teenagers who watch their wings flake and grow every day, never sure who loves them or doesn’t. having your crush figure out you like him because his wings won’t stop fluffing up.
bullies who fake having large wings, who hurt others because they never felt whole, who go home and try to wish their feathers into growing. gentle, soft people who have long wings they’re embarrassed of, who tuck them and try to be average because they don’t like showing off.
weddings where there’s so much love in the room everyone’s wings swell up. the couple having perfectly matched wings which don’t stop their steady growth. waking up next to your husband of six years to find he’s gone and all your feathers have fallen off.
a girl who is pushed down and laughed at for her little wings, her broken home. who knows she’s ugly for it, who feels perfectly alone. who one day walks into a room with another girl who happens to complement her shirt and within six days has become the closest friend she’s ever learned. her wings spreading big and wide and proud over other people’s heads, her new feathers getting in the way because she’s not used to them, pushing her new feathers out of the way so she can kiss the girl she’s dreamed about.
finding your best friend and watching the feathers sprout. lying awake in bed feeling useless and yet having this proof that someone out there loves you. helping a stranger on the train only to have a few cautious pinfeathers tickle their way out. wondering if they felt that tickle, too.
waking up from a dream very confused, hoping a boy six blocks down doesn’t come into school with suddenly slightly larger wings. ace people with arching wings who are absolutely loved by their friends, who are absolutely loving. your boyfriend promising you that boy he’s flirting with means nothing, finding that your feathers are slowly falling out in the shower each morning.
having average wings and a sad heart and doing your best to be alive and happy and whole but failing terribly - but working towards it, slowly, until one day you see your wings spreading and get excited about who it could be, who liked you enough to change you this drastically; only to figure out on a tuesday afternoon that it’s you, you’re the one who loves yourself for once; and the thought is so big and wide and lovely that you sit down on the floor and can’t stop crying because despite everything, you made it. and that’s amazing.
This was breathtaking
It’s like being thrown into the middle of the ocean with nothing to hold on to. And you try to keep your head above water for as long as you can until you’re just completely exhausted and can’t do it. The waves come crashing down on you, threatening to pull you under. And the are ten ships full of people trying to save you, ready to take you to shore. But they won’t throw you a life jacket or a life saver, they just tell to you to climb in the boat. They don’t understand why you can’t climb in the boat and save yourself.
Today I broke down for the first time in a long time. I told myself I was okay But it turns out I'm not. I couldn't decide whether to give myself a couple more scars Or to sit outside in the cold until I fell asleep. I did neither Because I'm so fucking weak
Listen when the light gets dim and your hands are shaking and in the morning your father’s number will be too hard to dial: wake up next to girls like her. Wake up to the forests in her iris, wake up to laughter, wake up okay - she knows how to guide you through footsteps you forgot how to walk, and girls like her: girls like her don’t come around often. they’re the sunrise you feel awake for, the warm rainbow, the shy butterfly on your finger. Listen, love girls like her, with nature tucked into their front pocket, they got so much heart that they’ll lend some to you. Love her back, okay, love her through to your bones and lost socks and deep roots. Girls like her are hard to find, they’re soft skin, they’re deep blue girls like her, they find where your happiness is. they give it back to you.
even as a friend, keep her close // r.i.d (via inkskinned)
I just wanna see you one last time. One more day, one more night, one more time to do what we do and love each other and be amazing together. Just to be able to say goodbye for one last time.
Exactly.
Imagine a wall full of circular holes, that circles can keep walking in and out of with no difficulty.
Now imagine that the triangles manage to get the resources together, after years of not being able to fit through the circle’s holes, to drill a single triangle space into the wall.
Now imagine that the circle — who previously supported the triangle’s efforts because they are well-rounded (har) and value equality — comes along and sees the construction project. But instead of being happy, they get angry.
“Well, I won’t be able to fit through your hole!!!!” the circle cries.
“I helped you get the drill!!!!” the circle shrieks.
“Make it fit me too!!!!” the circle demands.
The triangles, barely holding it together enough to get a triangle hole together, stare at the circle in confusion.
“You have all the holes you need,” the triangles explain. “This is for us. You don’t need to fit through our hole, too.”
“YOU’RE BEING UNEQUAL AND HURTING MY FEELINGS!” the circle wails. “I DON’T SUPPORT YOUR HOLE IF IT DOESN’T FIT ME TOO. GIVE ME MY DRILL BACK.”
“It’s not your drill, it’s our drill. You helped us get it, because you said you cared.”
“I ONLY CARED WHEN I THOUGHT YOU’D MAKE A HOLE EVERYONE COULD FIT THROUGH. YOU’RE PERPETUATING INEQUALITY!!!”
“Why is it up to us, the small group that has never been able to fit through the wall at all, to make a hole everyone can use? Why isn’t it up to you, the people who have been able to cross back and forth at will for years? We just want to see the other side; why are you yelling at us?”
“I DIDN’T ASK TO BE BORN A CIRCLE, OMG. I’VE HAD TO WORK HARD ALL MY LIFE TOO. YOU’RE JUST BEING BIGOTED AGAINST ME BECAUSE OF SOMETHING I CAN’T CONTROL, JUST LIKE EVERYONE IS AGAINST YOU.”
“You are interfering with our project and asking us to comfort you while we’re trying to make progress. Please leave.”
“I’m going to tell everyone about this,” the circle warns. “Nobody will support you now.”
“Apparently nobody ever did,” the triangles sigh, getting back to work.
It’s kind of sad
That we have to draw comics using colorful shapes
To explain systematic inequality to people
Reblogging again because yes good
Having divorced parents is like serving a lifetime punishment for a crime you didn’t commit.
Tell me I'm not 50 kinds of fucked up, Because I don't feel that way. Tell me I deserve to be happy, Because I could never tell myself that with a straight face. Tell me how much you loved me, Because I am not confident that you did. Because I am so many different shades of black, That I don't know if I'll ever be light again. Color me in yellows and greens and pinks, Because I am so tired of the navy blues and heather grays and blood reds. But those are the only colors I have on my palette.
God, I'm so stupid To think someone would actually want me Maybe it was the drinks Or maybe it was the loneliness Telling me to push on. In the back of my mind I heard myself say He's not into you, You're just too easy to pass up. But I pushed it to the side, Chalking it up to my low self esteem. Turns out that self-esteem was right. Just wish I had some tools tonight.
Memories Sharp as Knives
A memory crept up behind me today. It stabbed me in the back, and then in the heart, and left me lying on the floor gasping for air and clutching my chest. It was a memory of us. Perfect us, long before fights and disagreements and broken promises. Just us, being perfect together, and you being sweet, happy you. It blinded me, the way an unexpected flash of reflected sunlight renders you blind for a second, until you realize where it's coming from and you can adjust. It shredded me to pieces, and for the millionth time, I had to pick them all up and glue them all together again. I don't know if I wish it had never happened at all, or if I'm glad it even happened at all.
Experience
Tell me how much you dislike me
And I'll tell you how cute that is.
Because you've got nothing on me
And how much I dislike myself.
Make me a list of everything you hated about me
Everything that was wrong with me,
And I'll laugh at your list
Because I could add thirty more things that should be on there.
Because no matter what
There is no one that can hate you
More than you hate yourself.
I've learned that
From experience.
Experience tells me
Don't care so much.
You're so easily fooled.
Pull your heart out of this mess
before it gets squished.
You are not good enough.
Do not get close enough.
Such a silly waste.
Let it all go.
But hope tells me
Keep going.
You are good enough.
Try one more time.
You are worth it.
Keep going.
You can do it.
I just wish hope wasn't
Two inches tall,
Three ounces light,
And whisked away
With the slightest bit of wind,
And experience wasn't
Twelve feet tall,
Three hundred pounds heavy,
And constantly weighing on my chest.
Because I think,
soon I might suffocate.
3 Months
3 months, down the drain. Simply because you cannot handle the words of one person. 3 months ago, you promised nothing could break you down, make you begin again. But tonight, you shot that promise down like every one of the promises that’s been made to you has been. Broken, just like you, and the skin you call home.
I hate myself some days.
You tell yourself that if the worst thing happens, you won't survive it. Your heart will surely shatter into a billion pieces, and it will be irreparable. That you will break, fall onto your knees, and you will not have the power to pull yourself back up onto your feet. And then the worst thing does happen, but you are still alive. You are alive and on your feet, and though you sway a little, you are standing. You are standing in the midst of the wreckage that is your life, your plans, your future. And your heart is still intact. It is still beating, betraying you like you believed it wouldn't. Yes, it is unbelievably bruised, but it will get better. It will heal and you will rebuild everything that was destroyed. And it is in this moment that you understand that just because you believe you are incredibly vulnerable and weak, this does not make you so. You are always stronger than you believe yourself to be. And although it fills you with sorrow and guilt that you have not become broken and irreparable from this, you will come to realize that this does not make you cold or unfeeling. It makes you human.
It’s like being thrown into the middle of the ocean with nothing to hold on to. And you try to keep your head above water for as long as you can until you’re just completely exhausted and can’t do it. The waves come crashing down on you, threatening to pull you under. And the are ten ships full of people trying to save you, ready to take you to shore. But they won’t throw you a life jacket or a life saver, they just tell to you to climb in the boat. They don’t understand why you can’t climb in the boat and save yourself.
Dear you,
I know how much pain you’re in. I know how hard it is to wake up every morning and carry around the weight of the world on your shoulders when you can’t even lift your heart off the ground. Look into my eyes and tell me that you’re not hurting, because even though you say “No,” I can see the way your eyes strain to keep looking up when everything around you screams to keep your chin down and move along. Hold my hands and tell me that you’re not hurting, because I can feel the way they shake and shiver with each labored breath you take trying to hide those secrets. The ones that your skin refuses to hide for you, in revenge for how you’ve treated it. Tell me that you’re okay; whisper it in my ear, because I can hear the hollowness in your voice that always accompanies the aching in your heart. I can hear loneliness screaming through your words, trying to be noticed. So take the world down off your shoulders. It is not the sole purpose of your existence to shield the ones you love from your hurt. Pick up your heavy heart from the ground beneath you, and carry it as far as you are able to. And when you can no longer carry it, turn to me and I will be there with outstretched hands to carry it for you until you are able again. Until you have healed enough to put it back where it belongs, I will be here to help you carry on.
Me.
