Love Yourselves

//Shaking hands with the dark parts of my thoughts// ♡Dm me if you need a friend♡

[tangled-envisioning]

[coffeecutsandcigarettes]

one of the most toxic things i’ve ever done is ignore the bad in someone because i love them

[please-dont-fade]

‪You told me you wanted to grow‬

‪I️ hadn’t realized you’d plant seeds in another garden. ‬

[patientlights]

[kaktusist]

[my-teen-quote]

[please-dont-fade]

Every one I have ever loved came with their own flowers and I couldn't help but notice yours were roses and although they were the purest essence of beauty, my hands cut and bled when I touched your skin and once again you left your band aids in bed.

Lost Letters to False Lovers 

[astro-b-o-y-d]

Why artists and writers reblog their work multiple times:

They posted it late at night and want people to see it in the daytime

They want others to reblog it

They want more attention for it

THEY WANT OTHERS TO REBLOG IT

They have followers in different timezones and want everyone to get a chance to see it

THEY WANT OTHERS TO REBLOG IT

IF THEY REBLOG IT MULTIPLE TIMES, THEY’RE DOING IT BECAUSE THEY WANT ATTENTION FOR IT AND THEY’RE LIKELY NOT GETTING ENOUGH, SO THEY KEEP REBLOGGING IT IN THE HOPES THEY’LL GET SOME

BE A COOL BRO AND REBLOG

THEY’LL LOVE YOU FOREVER

[grifalinas]

“Bro why you keep reblogging your own work bro” “BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE IS”

[thesylverlining]

I always try to tag my own reblogs as “Shameless Reblog,” so if you really don’t want to see my desperate (shameless) self promoting, you’re free to blacklist that. But I gotta do it. And will never judge anyone else for doing the same.

[spicemommy]

Only a few people usually reblog my writing, and I’m very, very grateful for them, but it still makes me feel like nobody likes it. I see other pieces of work with tons and tons of notes and then look back to mine with ten and can’t help but compare them. Please, always reblog people’s art and writing. Say nice things in the tags, that’s the best thing ever. If I’m being honest, likes are nothing it says “this is cool, but not good enough to put on my blog” to us. The more I reblog my own, the more other people reblog them. That’s why I do it.

[deathly-awake]

[please-dont-fade]

WHY IS IT GREEDY THAT I WANT TO TAKE THE LIFE THAT IS ALREADY MINE?

[please-dont-fade]

I can't shake this feeling of wanting to go home every time I step inside my house.

[please-dont-fade]

MY CONFIDENCE HAS SLOWLY DRIPPED FROM MY VEINS INTO THE SOIL OF MY GARDEN BUT NOW MY FLOWERS WON’T GROW AND MY BLOOD IS WEARING THIN

[faded-and-dreaming]

[broken0wonderland-deactivated20]

[m0rbidityy]

Just reblog. You never know who’s life you might save

[please-dont-fade]

YOU LEFT ME WITHOUT NEEDLES OR THREAD TO HELP STRING MY THOUGHTS TOGETHER SO HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SPEAK WHEN YOU’RE ALL THAT’S ON MY MIND

[please-dont-fade]

Records were made to play music yet the only one I could hear was constantly screaming, “Daddy is seeing someone else now.” Spoken 6 years ago, my father told me he hoped I would one day find a little extra forgiveness in my heart to share with him; for at that time I was only of existence for 9 years and was just brought upon realization of the lies my father held in his throat for so long I’m surprised it didn’t bruise his neck. 2,190 days ago my world crumbled and I fell just as hard as trees do in wild forest fires. So much that I developed unhealthy habits and lived every day with resentment and anger because I kept every thing bottled up inside like soda in shaken aluminum. I never surrendered any absolution because I felt as if I had none to give but I never realized there was an ocean full of emotions growing inside of me that never once failed to wash away the remnants of forgiveness that made up the tiny specks of sand hidden beneath my restless current. Not a day went by where I would not feel the roaring waves crash against my every corner but I was too seasick to attempt swimming back to shore. My father never once sailed through those waters nor did he ever try to calm the movement; it is the very reason why I never tried to swim to the bottom and pick up what I thought my eyes would never lay themselves upon. At no time had I ever thought that happiness could derive from the content of others until I realized bodies were not constructed for the very oceans that were built up inside of me. Sometimes I would find myself disoriented on tides of anguish and grief. I felt as though I experienced death when I had seen that my thoughts of my dad were altered and my childhood accustoms were brought to an abrupt end. Everything was clouded by the fog I created yet I blamed every one else for. It was only a few weeks ago I realized it was not them who couldn’t muster the strength to swim deep enough but it was I; and although I was not a participant in starting this race, I was the only one left running past the finish line. It’s been far too long. My lungs are tired and my eyes are too swollen from long nights where words would cause my mouth to dry out as quickly as a towel laying in the heat of the sun. I have not found swimming to be easy but neither has a bird seen their first flight as an effortless task. In the end it seems we both have done laborious work for our own simpler living. Now the only record I hear are slow moving waves washing upon tiny spectacles of everything that ever made me feel loved, happy.

Forgiveness is a soft lullaby. Darling, rest your head and go to sleep.