Brilliant and Burning

dreaming of different horizons

[overpricedvodka]

Paranoid white people afraid that brown people are taking “their country” away from them.  That’s what gun sales are all about.  And don’t tell me about that one Black guy you know that has a gun collection.  Outliers do not make a trend invalid, OK?

[druidcore]

out of curiosity reblog with whether you’re an extrovert or an introvert in the tags and whether you’d rather be too hot or too cold

[maisjetaime]

I hope you look for me in everyone else and panic when you realize that they’ll never be exactly the same.

Ten words story: you lost me. (via missinyouiskillingme)

[mysingingsecrets]

I am a Person! I want to scream it in their faces Not a solution, not an enigma, not a bandage or a reason to live for. I am a Woman with ink in her flesh and thoughts in her head. With insecurities and quirks Dreams and even ambitions (Yes I have them too) I am a Person.

Stanza from something I'm working on

-K 

[ultrafacts]

Source Follow Ultrafacts for more facts

[thishartominefeelz]

O_O

[yarnhag]

The last thing I wanted was infinite security and to be the place an arrow shoots off from. I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket.

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath (via maybeto-morrow)

[mysingingsecrets]

I hope my finger-prints still burn white-hot within your chest I have become so much more than you ever painted me to be

- K

[mysingingsecrets]

Every bit of me falls over the lines In messy enthusiasm and half-formed thoughts, I am no neatly shaped sculpture Or soft and dainty flower; I am Splatter Paint and Thunderheads Inspiration and deep, shattered longing The ruckus Sound of laughter and The vast, vast Ocean

Part of a piece I'm working on

-K

[yarnhag]

I want to take a bite out of this whole fucking World like it’s an Apple in my hand.

(via maybeto-morrow)

[backshelfpoet]

i. on the nights she is not there, he sits in the swell of the moon, writes poetry about the way coffee clings to her teeth. she is a vinyl record lullaby, penny pressing the pin to her grooves, skipping over words & hours spent with the pillow cold, his arms aching chasms gasping for breath. ii. she spends her time repairing clocks, howling at lampposts that have long since burnt out, wrists a mess of poetry & pen ink. it’s the choking that she cannot stand, all this air and nothing but her heartbeat. it’s the way the stars scream across thousands of years and sear handprints on her thighs. iii. like the poets, we are dust & bones buried under the words we have but cannot say.

Pas De Trois | d.a.s (via backshelfpoet)

[elenamorelli]

[observando]

It is only by enlarging the scope of one’s tastes and one’s fantasies, by sacrificing everything to pleasure, that the unfortunate individual called Man, thrown despite himself into this sad world, can succeed in gathering a few roses among life’s thorns.

Marquis de Sade (via observando)

[alfaazkibarsaaat]

I want your Monday morning sleep soaked eyes dream drenched voice, lazy bones ‘five more minutes please babe.’ I want your Tuesday afternoon coffee break, glasses off, laughter on ‘just hold me for a while it’s been a hard day.’ I want your Wednesday evening fingers through hair teeth nibbling nails neck craning, eye glazing ‘this paperwork never ends’ I want your Thursday night drinks for two bones unbind muscles let loose flats, slacks, ‘just me and you’ I want your finally Friday stretch soul smile, sun sipping light from the glaciers in your eyes fingers unfurl, hand extends ‘c’mon babe, lets go wild’ I want your weekend. your movie marathon Saturday reading by the fireplace kissing in the blankets want your Sunday morning orange juice and pancakes white sheets, tender skin hair like the Fourth of July ‘let’s not get out of bed today.’ I want your ordinary and your stress, rest, release I want your bad day and that terrible night I want you drunk in my arms forgetting the place but never my name I want your lazy and your lonely and your fist full of fight I want you everyday in every way for the rest of my life.

On Both Knees | alfaazkibarsaaat (via alfaazkibarsaaat)

oh my

(via living-captivated)

[loveless-people]

I wish friends held hands more often, like the children I see on the streets sometimes. I’m not sure why we have to grow up and get embarrassed about it.

Stephanie Perkins  (via hefuckin)

[quotes-shape-us]

Be the one who nurtures and builds. Be the one who has an understanding and a forgiving heart one who looks for the best in people. Leave people better than you found them.

Marvin J. Ashton   (via the-heart-of-the-lion)

[blythebaird]

HIGH SCHOOL This is how to run a stick of Chapstick down the black boxes on your scantron so the grading machine skips the wrong answers. This is how to honor roll. Hell, this is how to National Honor Society. This is being voted “Most Likely to Marry for Money” or “Talks the Most, Says the Least” for senior superlatives. This is stepping around the kids having panic attacks in the hallway. This is being the kid having a panic attack in the hallway. This is making the A with purple moons stamped under both eyes. We had to try. This is telling the ACT supervisor you have ADHD to get extra time. Today, the average high school student has the same anxiety levels as the average 1950’s psychiatric patient. We know the Pythagorean theorem by heart, but short-circuit when asked “How are you?” We don’t know. We don’t know. That wasn’t on the study guide. We usually know the answer, but rarely know ourselves.

HIGH SCHOOL By Blythe Baird (via blythebrooklyn)

[vodkakilledtheteen]

I swear the other day my eyes were wide opened and I saw my soul standing with a lot of bruises in front of me. Jesus, I swear I feel so lonely my own soul is trying to leave me.

Alexa Evangelista (via vodkakilledtheteens)