Urano @raccoglieropezzidime - Tumblr Blog

romyy999

Mi sembra di far marcire tutto ciò che tocco.

- romyy999

ousadinho

saltyocean

ben

neverlvnd

X

senibilmek

holdeverycurve

butchbearz

How come Im always good enough to fuck but never good enough to be someones girlfriend long term. Its really fucking with me. Everyone seems to want to fuck me but no one wants to date me.

leparolechenonesprimo

Sempre.

silenziox

Che sensazione strana quando il mix di noia e solitudine diventa ormai una normalità assoluta.

wildflower-whisperss

I know what I am. I know what people think when they look at me. I know the words before they’re even spoken. I’ve told them to myself a thousand times already.

I’m fat. I take up too much space. My body is wrong, my face is wrong, my everything is wrong. I know.

I’m useless. I haven’t done anything that matters. I haven’t made anyone proud. I haven’t done anything worth remembering. I know.

I’m a disappointment. A letdown. A failure. People expected more, and I gave them nothing. I know.

I’m stubborn. I don’t change. I don’t improve. I don’t fix what’s broken in me. I know.

I’m a burden. People don’t want to deal with me, but they do, out of pity or obligation. I make things harder. I know.

I’m a bad daughter. A bad sister. A bad everything. I don’t give enough, I don’t try enough, I am not enough. I know.

I like reading, but what’s the point? It doesn’t change me. It doesn’t make me better. It’s just another thing I do that means nothing. I know.

And what’s the point of my poetry and all my writing when I’m fat? Who cares what I have to say? Who would ever take my words seriously when I look like this? It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. I know.

You’re ashamed of me, right? It’s okay, I know. I’m ashamed of myself too. You’re embarrassed of me, right? It’s okay, I’m embarrassed of myself too. I understand you. I understand how you feel. I’m sorry about it.

Is this enough? Have I said enough? Do you want me to say more? Should I go on about how much I hate myself? How I wake up every day wondering why I’m even here? How I know everything would be easier if I just wasn’t?

I get it. I understand. I’m the problem. I always have been. I always will be.

I’m sorry. For everything. For existing.

vampireink

I will have a home one day. It will be warm, and it will be safe. It will have large windows so that it never feels like a prison. It will have comfort and light and colours, and there will be joy echoing off of each of the walls. There will be no shouting in my home. There will be no violence, no harsh words, no abuse ... it will be safe, and it will be my home.