Just Breathe

I'm Sarah. I'm still working out the rest.

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I just feel so fucking alone. What’s the point.

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I look at him and see blueberry pancakes- Hear Sunday morning jazz. He reminds me of beautiful memories that I have yet to have

We could be forever. (via sarahsthoughtsdontstop)

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i don’t know what the fuck love is supposed to feel like.

but your voice sounds like melted gold as it runs down my spine

i ask what songs keep you up all night as they write themselves into the soundtrack of your history

you’ve written yourself as track 24 of my soundtrack and i don’t know what the fuck love feels like but this is my favorite song.

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I spend all of my time writing fucking poems about you. About the way you look, and the way you smell, and the way you say my name. Or about how you make me feel. About the way you laugh, or the way I laugh when you’re around. You’ve crept your way into every drop of ink I put on a page. They are all a trace of you. I can’t write about myself without finding you in the curve of a comma.

 I am not the byproduct of loving you. 

 I was whole before I ever met you. I was complete and enough. It was your love that made me look- but I was always made up of stars. So this poem is about me, and it is for me. Because I used to say that I knew you like the back of my hand. But that’s a lie, I knew you like I knew the back of your hand. Now I’m not sure I know my own hand at all. So I’m gonna learn it, and I’ll paint it with solar systems and you’ll inspire it but you won’t be a part of it. 

 I love you, but if you don’t mind, I’ll take a break and try loving me.

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When you sleep I spend my insomnia ridden hours counting the freckles on your back. Then I count the times you’ve said you’ll never be in love with me. I don’t know what I’m trying to quantify, but the freckles seem to make the number a valid reason to stay.

Sarah Labat (via prettypictures-brokenwords)

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i am the ashes of my fathers forgotten dreams the soot of a past he can’t get back he says “the hardest part about loosing mama” was being forced to see her in my eyes every day i know he loves me i think he just wishes fires were more complete

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Our nights under the stars give me faith in God I simply refuse to believe anything this perfect could be a cosmic accident

In love with how you love me (via prettypictures-brokenwords)

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I never told you that I loved you. I’m sorry for that- but fuck you and your theories as to why. I don’t have commitment issues, except maybe with myself. Committing to you was the easiest choice I ever made. I wanted you no matter what. Poor, rich, suburbs, gypsies, artists lost in the wind, all sounded just fine with you. I never told you I loved you because I just assumed it was the clearest thing about me. They could write it on my tombstone: here lies the girl with dark hair, and gentle hands, who loved the boy more than she loved herself. Every choice I made from the day I met you, was because I loved you. From now on I will say all the things I once thought you just knew. I am deeply broken. I am happiest on Sundays. Life makes a bit more sense to me underwater. Coffee should never be confined to mornings. You are the single best thing that has ever stepped foot into my life, and as long as you stay I will love you with all I have, and all that I am.

In other words, I’m sorry. (via prettypictures-brokenwords)

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I wanna post some new work but I’m reading through some of my favorite old ones and I think i’m going to reblog a few of them here first.

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from my Christmas party I never posted

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oh my gosh I can’t believe I remembered the login for this account. Does anyone still follow this blog?

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I live my life in black-and-white. Rights and wrongs, Good and evil. If something cannot be measured, it does not exist. At least, that's what I keep telling myself. How easy it would all be without you. You you make lines fuzzier than tequila shot number 7.  In my world of black and white, he painted me in a spectrum too vibrant for the human eye. Wrong. Right. I've lost the boarder line. Maybe there never was one. All I know now is this. I can't measure you, or quantify you, but I can't live without you. You've shown me that sometimes good and evil exist within the same action. Like taking what isn't yours for the one who needs it more. Or falling in love with a boy who doesn't know how to love you back. Everything is gray now.

Prettypictures-brokenwords

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"You painted the universe on my spine, and I no longer believe Atlas carried a burden. He finally had a purpose."

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I stretch out my fingers to reach towards a body I know won't be there to meet them. I don't leave this bed in fear of losing the warmth you left in in. I thought this time was different. I thought this time you would stay.

It wasn’t different. It never is.

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My grandmother grew up in a time when you did not waste food. As we sit around the dinner table I watch her frail fingers pick at a chicken leg until I thought it was done 15 minutes ago. I realize I'm so fascinated because it reminds me of the way you picked my identity right off my bones. Until there was nothing left. Just a new slate for you to make me into the woman you always dreamed of.

These bones are still mine

[womeninframes-blog]

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Check out this picture of me dressed as a cowgirl as a child. I keep her on my door as a reminder to always be the person Cowgirl Sarah would be proud of. 

And go and check out this awesome blog my Roommate/Cousin is doing, because it’s super cool!

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A thank you note.

To every night I lie unable to sleep because the weight of my life sits too heavy upon my chest for my lungs to even remember air; thank you. Without you, my Sunday mornings wouldn't leaving me feeling drunk on my lovers smile. To every person who broke my heart into pieces that could never be put back together; thank you. I found the more you let the pieces be broken, the easier it is to make them into something other than what they once were. I took the dusty remnants of my heart and built them into a temple that I'm open to letting the world tear down again. This world hasn't been easy on me, but mama never said life was easy. Mama said life was good, and that might be the only truth she ever told me. Every thorn stabbed into my side bled honey when pulled away. When I close my eyes I am sea glass. Feeling the ocean take me whichever direction it sees fit; but the rougher the waves, the more polished and beautiful the glass.