r.l.r.h

hello there. my work will be under #rlrh and others will be under #not mine.

[smspoetry]

you told me that i was gold but in the same breath told me that it was losing it’s value.

smspoetry (via smspoetry)

[rlrh-poetry]

I see bits of you in partners that could have been mine if I wasn't warned by your blaring eyes or the smoke leaving your mouth that I see in them. The manipulative behavior and the flirtatious glances that mean nothing. You saved me from different versions of yourself. The only good thing you've ever done for me. So cheers. To the bastard that broke my heart. 

[rlrh-poetry]

I wish I told you how I felt at the time but even if you were to ask me now, the words I thought over a thousand times would still find a way to trip, stumble, and fall into nonexistence.

[rlrh-poetry]

Through the tears and the anger I wrote my heart out believing it would help me recover the pain losing you held. However you weren't a loss but a lesson taught the hard way. That I am my own queen and king. That I rule over my body, my emotions, my entire being. That a silly boy will never hold my heart with shakey hands ever again. That I will love myself enough to never put myself through your bull shit one more time.

[lifeinpoetry]

“In the space between “I’m glad you’re okay…” and “Are you alright?” Sunlight in a stained glass window.”

— Jasminne Mendez, from “Dar a Luz” published in Gulf Coast

[rlrh-poetry]

I can feel my heartbeat resonating through my body indicating that I am alive. Indicating that there is something inside of me. But these hollow walls are forming this hollow cave with an amber ridden fire pit. Flames choked out on its own smoke. Drowning above sea level.

[rlrh-poetry]

I thought about the words that were going to run out of my mouth. I didnt have to think that long. I inhaled deeply breathing in toxic air and screamed on a rooftop of the tallest building for the world to hear. I screamed so loudly that the vibrations ripped my throat so rough that uneven edges appeared. I screamed so harshly that the sky shook and poured down in fear. I screamed "I hate him" and I said it with a smile. And the world saw. And the world looked away. And my smile. My smile was washed away by the rain that ran away from the skies above.

[dizzydaisythoughts]

‘choose.’ i said, ‘me or her.’ but it wasn’t that simple not for you it wasn’t coke or pepsi cats or dogs sun or rain it was the difference between ‘i love you’ and ‘i need you’ soft goodnight kisses or rough morning sex big smiles and tenderness and a girl that just made you so happy or late nights and alcohol and a girl that made you feel alive so when i said, ‘choose.’ when i said, ’me or her.’ you looked at me like i was asking you the most unfair question in the world you said, ‘i love you,’ and my heart fell on cracked pavement broke right down the middle because i realized that it wasn’t the difference between coke or pepsi it was the difference between ‘i love you’ and ‘i need you’ and you told me you loved me which could only mean you needed her

DizzyDaisyThoughts (via lolinchi)

[rlrh-poetry]

My heart still aches when I remember the future you promised me.

A midnight blue accent wall in the kitchen of the apartment and sunflowers on the terrace.

Us waking up beside each other everyday.

You said you couldn’t wait to see me with my hair a mess every morning. Couldn’t wait to see me walking around with your too big shirt on me. Couldn't wait to come home to me. You couldn’t wait but for some reason I still am.

[rlrh-poetry]

Sarcastic serotonin filled my head when you said you loved me. I laughed out loud, of course you loved me.

[purplebuddhaquotes]

She dressed herself in confidence everyday and refused to wear anybody else’s insecurities.

a.j.lawless (via purplebuddhaquotes)

[kittykatex]

[inkskinned]

he writes her poems about her eyes and the sum of her, like her parts are books in a library he’s just getting around to. 

i call her to me over a mirror my grandmother made me. she and i are naked in candlelight and dancing. when she laughs, the room echoes slightly. our witchy fingers loop around each other’s knuckles, form holes to see the faeries through. we lie awake in satin robes reading each other byron, laughing, doing shots whenever we fall in love with words.

he says she makes him feel like johnny cash. he acts as if she is an empty vault, already stolen from. he’s coming to save her from herself, fill up the lockboxes of her with his secrets so she can carry them safely. 

she comes to me in a cricket. tells me a secret so that it can unwind in the air, in the way of cotton. it shifts into a sunbeam and is no more. together we sit in a comfortable silence and observe the rest of forgiveness. i hold her hand while she buries her nightmares. i understand why she cries when the mug drops. she knows how come a loud noise makes me flinch. we do not navigate around each other’s sore parts. we tend to them eagerly. hopefully. knowing a scorched ground can still bear fruit. we say: this is but a thumbprint to the rest of you, and i love all of you, and i will consume the darkness with my own teeth if it means helping you tear it out by the roots.

he says he loves her, he loves her, that she is a reborn star, or his galaxy, he has me read his work where she is a mountain that his thirsty palms go navigating. i blush at my own cliches in his handwriting. i can’t help it. when someone makes you wordless, you rely on old words. he tells me that she is his muse, he says i am too trusting of sappho, that the sun eats hearts like mine. she is a flower and i am a blush. he is a bold color. he says he’ll call her and she’ll come, the way that all dogs do when they’ve learned to trust.

and i kiss her and i say nothing. call her no angel or snowfall or winter rose, just by her name in the night when we are both alight and living, just by a single noise in the whiteness of breaking. i kiss her and i write her poetry about how she makes me feel like johnny cash, how i feel like a spirit, how i feel like a space station, how she is my star and my galaxy and i say sorry and she says that there are no new ideas under the sun, but they become new because they’re new ways to witness me. we lie awake and i say poetry is an old magic. she says, good. she says: well the spell is working. she says: let me prove to you that you’ve won. and she calls me and i come.

[kristensnotebook]

Sugar-Free

She said: I like my men like my coffee – black-souled and bitter with tongue-burning kisses that leave you shaking, grasping the half-filled mug for dear life until you’re left lonely, but strangely awakened to earth’s everyday tragedies.

-Kristen Costello

[fyp-philosophy]

The future is a concept, it doesn’t exist. There is no such thing as tomorrow. There never will be, because time is always now. That’s one of the things we discover when we stop talking to ourselves and stop thinking. We find there is only present, only an eternal now.

Alan Watts (via fyp-philosophy)

[wordsnquotes]

By all means break the rules, and break them beautifully, deliberately and well.

Robert Bringhurst (via wordsnquotes)

[sirdaven]

Have you ever seen brown eyes in the sun? You don’t always notice it at first but you’ll see that ‘brown’ not longer describe them. They melt into golden rays, circling an eclipse. There’s nothing boring about brown eyes, not even when the later hours encroach; they just turn into a sunset of their own.

Word Porn (via sirdaven)