Wasted Words

Tough like Monday mornings. Howling at the moon.

[littleredrockett]

Don't get it confused. Love isn't the queen of hearts, she's the joker, and she's up to her old sadistic tricks again. Love is lingering in the your favorite coffee shop, scratched into the bathroom mirror by a past lover, so that just above your reflection, all you see is "amore - it's a bad habit." Love is bleeding black across tender collarbones of the one you can't shake, screaming "say goodbye to love, hold your head up high." Love is the laugh to keep from crying kind of irony, the dull end of the knife left in your back. She lets you forget about her just to haunt you when everything feels okay again. Love likes to see you suffer. Love likes to see you ache. Love knows that you kind of like it.

Stop me if you've heard this one before.

[littleredrockett]

you make me feel like writing again. hold this close when you need it most: with you, the poems come so easily.

[wordsnquotes]

…I dedicate myself, to my art, my sleep, my dreams, my labors, my suffrances, my loneliness, my unique madness, my endless absorption and hunger because I cannot dedicate myself to any fellow being.

Jack Kerouac (via wordsnquotes)

[littleredrockett]

[littleredrockett]

It’s like this: the lines blur between feeling lonely and craving attention. Some nights I do not mind being alone; the quiet is preferred and I can appreciate the simplicity of a beautiful evening without you rolling your eyes. But I want to be touched. Oh, and how I want to be held. Intentionally, and unapologetically, I want to remember what passion between two people feels like. I want to inhale the way you shiver just before losing yourself, and exhale my darkest secrets over your tongue. Fucking is just loving without spilling over. I want to be my own, but oh, god oh god oh god, I want to be touched.

Fuck me in the hazy light of morning so I know it’s real. (via littleredrockett)

[littleredrockett]

Oh, god, is it intoxicating– watching people foolishly fall in love with you– the way they shyly look down at their shoes, the way they laugh nervously through a crooked smile and stumble over all the pretty words they’ve saved up for you. It’s sickening, isn’t it? Like a disease. The way we grow sheepish and stupid, just hungry for the attention, the way we bury our right minded sense of self with our better judgment and our sanity. The way we break our own hearts just to get ourselves to feel something else.

Worldwide Epidemic of the 21st Century (via littleredrockett)

[littleredrockett]

In a relationship with myself.

[littleredrockett]

Powerlines Pt. II

(Part I)

[wirlmag-blog]

Megan Rockett,

There could be no better person I can think of to kick of W.I.R.L. than my beloved Megan.  A true hybrid of strength and sensitivity, this woman is figuring out her way through life living in the grey area of sexuality and femininity that doesn’t often get talked about in the media.  She speaks of finding ways to love yourself for being yourself in a world that seems so set on manufacturing the “perfect woman.”  “When I put on a dress, I can look in the mirror and be like ‘that’s really cute,’ but I feel fucking weird, because that’s not me.”  Not every woman has to be fit into a strict box of femininity, just the same as men don’t have to fit into a strict box of masculinity.  “You’re not going to get anywhere being who you aren’t.  Like, you’re gonna feel okay for a little while, and then you’re gonna start to feel weird, […] and then you’re going to feel you’re wasting your life not being yourself.”

this photo has had no alterations from its original.

[littleredrockett]

I love this human being with all of my heart and I am so happy to be a part of Wirl Mag. Please follow this wonderful project and support my best friend xx

[littleredrockett]

you and your poetry are both beautiful beings x thank you xx I hope this message finds you well

Thank you so much, you are lovely. xx

[littleredrockett]

thank something holy for this porch and the smell of cigarettes from the bar next door and anything that makes you feel a little less lonely. and hold onto that when you need a little saving because these will be the things that croon and coax you out of the same four tired walls of a house that never felt like home. hold onto that when you feel like you have nothing left because these will be the things that keep you alive. listen, you can’t rely on anyone for anything. but when you want to disappear, seek unconditional love from a good book, a cup of coffee, the last cigarette, and the constant of streetlights. it’s okay if the only time you laughed today was in the face of danger.

Violence, Megan Rockett (via littleredrockett)

[littleredrockett]

I am so in love with your words. Is there a book of you I can buy? I'm dying to.

My book is temporarily out of print until I find a sugar daddy to fund a second run. If you have any leads, please share.

[littleredrockett]

This is how it starts: The dirty talk turned pillow talk. The easy metaphors and pretty words. The imagery of two bodies as a landscape. You told me you didn't like the way I had you shaking, but darling, you laid down with an earthquake and asked her out for a drink.

Isn't It Fun?

[littleredrockett]

On Loving Them Both, Megan Rockett

[littleredrockett]

I am soft, and this is not a sign of weakness. Today, I am content with sitting alone in darkness, with tired eyes, with a complacent heart. The light that once danced and dwelled across the floorboards has left just like everyone else, and that's okay. I didn't need anyone to wipe away my sadness. I drowned in it and let myself die there. This is learning to love stars, and not people. This is being reborn from entirely different matter.

February.

[littleredrockett]

On the cusp of consciousness standing at the edge of a cliff, overlooking a hell sized rabbit hole, contemplating every angry word, every bitter apology, every thought dipped in desperation, tasting of grief and giving up, trembling beneath the weight of everything you've ever felt, and saying nothing.

You asked me what dying felt like.

[latenightcornerstore]

A FIELD GUIDE TO LOVING YOURSELF …. When you’re second choice, you will always catch yourself wishing that they had had the decency not to love you. Because not being loved doesn’t sound half as bad as not being loved enough. So you fashion your heart into a cigar box; you give it a clasp, a hinge, and a lock. You package up old loves gone stale. You haze the room of your rib cage with secondhand smoke. You brag about the ones who almost loved you like they’d loved you, and hold the burning to your lips. You paint your mouth red with the cherry of the cigarette, whatever it takes to feel beautiful, without them. The love you’re looking for looks like a fourth story apartment, like a window with a view, like a blanket across the back of an armchair, like candlelight in the living room. It looks the way Christmas at your mother’s never felt. Love looks like drowning and flying all at once; it looks like a one-way plane ticket. It looks like you, darling. It looks just like you.

A FIELD GUIDE TO LOVING YOURSELF, by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)