Be Gentle, Be Kind

Currently Semi-active. I was “hip-bonesz.” 27 | They/them Pro-recovery and Harm reduction. I do NOT give tips, I will NOT blog thinspo, and I will NOT post bodychecks. Just venting, memes, and lots of love. Please stay safe! I am here if you need anything.

[flowerytale]

Charlotte Brontë, from “Jane Eyre”

[size-none]

Back into old Bad habits. ✌🏻

[godenteredmybody-deactivated202]

[decease-soul]

nobody’s waiting for me

[altruisticwriter]

-William Wordsworth

[feral-ballad]

Ilya Kaminsky, from Deaf Republic: Poems; “Alfonso, in snow”

[Text ID: "You are alive, I whisper to myself, therefore something in you listens."]

[winslowat3am]

"The life of inner peace, being harmonious & without stress, is the easiest type of existence." — Norman Vincent Peale ✧*。

[verbix2]

01 FEBRUARY 2010

[smilingdork]

Kiss me, and you will see how important I am.

- Sylvia Plath

[angelic-vessels]

I’m unsure

[soracities]

e.e. cummings, “in the rain” (from Tulips), Complete Poems: 1904-1962

[Text ID: “a single star is uttered,and i

think           of you”]

[angelic-vessels]

do you?

[Credit below the comment]

[ritikajyala]

I was a gifted child. Until I wasn't. I was the golden girl. Until I couldn't burn anymore.

My parents expected me to build wings of gold and fly further than anyone could ever try. I don't blame them, having a child to raise is like sculpting a clay pot, you can shape it the way you like, paint it the colour you fancy. To raise a child is to play God. To raise a child is to be God.

But to be a child is to fall, to make mistakes, to fail. The thing about being too bright at an early age means you burn out by the time you're 16 and suddenly the world around you becomes more gray and terribly, terribly lonely. The fire is never warm enough, nothing is ever enough. And one day you find yourself begging to a godless sky, begging for a new spark.

I was a gifted child once. I was the golden girl. And one day, I burned out.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

[chillpotato]

- Mahmoud Darwish from 'Memory for Forgetfulness: August, Beirut c. 1982 (tr. Ibrahim Muhawi)

[firstfullmoon]

Alex Dimitrov, from “Love,” in Love and Other Poems

[text ID: I love August and its sadness.]

[htvpgenny]

I never told you this, but sometimes I just sit there and imagine all the little scenarios of us in my head. Basic things like watching movies, cuddling, doing late night food runs, have deep conversations, and taking random trips. I just miss you and want to be with you.

[free-my-mindd]