Alone

[just-shower-thoughts]

If you’re looking for the safest place to live, statistically, the moon has a 0% mortality rate compared to Earth’s 100%

[spiral-insanity]

You read poetry of heartbreak and the pain

worded so carefully to make it feel okay

make you feel like you’re not alone

and for a moment you feel alright

but the pathetic truth is that in between the stanzas there’s still loneliness

in between the fancy words

and the emotion - anger, pain, sadness

there’s still more than you can understand

reading about heartbreak

is like a shitty bandaid that covers the wound but doesn’t stick

for a moment

you feel sane

but when the thoughts are all collected

and there’s nothing else to read

you have to face yourself

and you realize that in the end, you are alone.

which is okay

even now I try to mend this shitty poem

and assure myself, assure my invisible audience

I have to stop myself. Because as much as I love poetry, as much as I crave the words,

nothing on paper can explain how your heartbreak feels

because there is nothing poetic about it.

[spiral-insanity]

every ounce of my body is telling me this is wrong

[cwote]

So what if you’re alone right now. Embrace it. Go get coffee alone. Shop alone. Drive alone. Watch movies alone. Get to know yourself. Nothing bad can come from riding whatever wave to self improvement you’re blessed with in the moment.

[girlsbestkeptsecret]

Don’t let that go Over Ur Head….

[ernmark]

Dear god, sleepy intimacy makes me so very happy.

One person sleeping with their head on the other person’s lap. Getting all drowsy-snuggly when they’re too tired to see straight. Being tucked in and kissed on the forehead before they pass out. Gentle touches while they drift off. Trusting the other person to watch over them and make sure nothing happens to them while they’re out.

Just… sleepy intimacy, man.

[achingchest]

“yeah, i know, sometimes people don’t really love you, they love how you make them feel and i’ve been spending so much time wondering if that’s how you feel about me, wondering if i was always just something to fill the void in your self-confidence, but now i’m realizing how much truth is in the opposite, how you can make me feel like sunshine and still be sandpaper, and i’m starting to realize how much you’ve really changed me, how much better i’ve gotten, how much love you’ve helped me give myself, and how little that says about you. because that doesn’t make you the person i have built you to be in my head, it just means you are an important part of my own story, and i don’t know if i love you anymore. i guess i don’t know what that means. it’s more complicated that that and it runs deeper. it’s an appreciation i can’t put words to, an endless game of tug-of-war and the only one winning is my arm strength. so i tell you we’re not right for each other and then clench my mouth shut when i have nightmares of you with other girls. so i’m trying to do things behind your back because you’re doing things behind my back but i know i’m doing that thing again where i’m over-exaggerating a situation because you’re not here to convince me it’s not true but this feeling in my chest is more poetic than any bouquet of words i could give you, so i’m a walking poem, so i’m a little lost without you but i guess i like being lost. i guess i like it better than surrendering to the darkness.”

— arm strength (via achingchest)

[anxietyproblem]

[sometimestuesday-deactivated202]

It’s so weird how sometimes when I read a poem it just feels like a bunch of words and sometimes when I read a poem it feels like someone ripping my heart out of my body and throwing it at my face at 90 mph

[haleyincarnate]

Quote by Elizabeth Scott

[l0nely-smiles]

hey when the fuck are things gonna get easier

[spiral-insanity]

“And one day, the poetry didn’t fix anything”

— Anymore (via untold-stories-here)

[spiral-insanity]

“Damn us poets we see poetry when others see hurt.”

— C/ on loss (5)  (via 24xsevenchaos)

[toaddtomylonelyjournal]

“I’m not normal. I always tell you that you shouldn’t love me, and that bothers you, and I’m sorry. But I’m the girl that sleeps at 8PM one night, then 3AM the next. I drink my coffee at night, and I always have to have a cold drink with it because I count it as more of a luxury than a fluid. I can’t catch a ball to save my life but I have these weeks where all I’ll do is go outside and throw a ball up and try to catch it on the way down. I can walk in a straight line no matter how many shots I’ve had, yet I lack any common coordination even so. I hate the word hate, yet I use it daily (never for a specific person). I consider myself a writer, yet I only write when it’s midnight and I’ve lost sight of who I am. I love to read but I have weeks where I don’t have the patience to pick up a book. My heart beats at abnormal rates, but never drastically enough for worries. There are days when I’m optimistic and pessimistic all at the same time and I still don’t understand the balance of that imbalance. I didn’t know my left from my right until I was ten, but I knew what sex was by age seven. I have an “I don’t care what people think of me” mindset, but my life is constructed on the foundation that is social influence. Half the time I want to punch you, but I want to kiss it better even before I do it. I see into other people’s emotions and interpret them and morph them into something that fits my life. I’m fucked up. I’m imperfect and I’m not normal. Don’t try to tell me that nobody’s perfect nor normal. No matter how true that statement is proven, nobody is ever this far off from it, and there’s nothing you can say that’s gonna make that any different. I am different in the worst way possible. I can speak these words. I can tell you every negative trait of me, unintentionally avoiding any positive aspect I’ve ever seen in myself. I can tell you about me. I can go on and on, except I don’t know who I am, and this simply further supports my claims.”

— I’m imperfect in a way that no one else is (via thedeaddozen)

[ninasdrafts]

“I think I always wanted love to prove me wrong in the end. See, I’m pretty cynical. I’m sceptical. I don’t believe in love at first sight and I don’t think there is only one person in this world for each and every one of us. I don’t believe that there’s someone out there waiting for me, expecting me, looking for the right moment to rush into my life at full speed and rescue me. To fix me. To make me a better person. Maybe I was never comfortable not knowing where exactly I was going. I prodded at things until they ignited, I added fuel to the fire until it all crashed and burned. I saw the end long before it was coming. I loved long and hard, and short and heated, but I never found the feeling I’d been looking for. That others described but that I could never really relate to. But I’m hopeful. I’m adaptive. I believe that you can meet someone and instantly know that this person will play a bigger role in your life. That you look at them and feel your heart rush into your throat and you know, oh you know, that this is going to be new and exciting and beautiful, no matter how long it lasts. I believe that some souls respond to ours in kind, and that we will run into these people we are supposed to meet, no matter which way we choose to go. Perhaps I even have to admit that I believe that there’s someone out there waiting for me, expecting me, who can’t wait to finally meet me. I still want love to prove me wrong. I’m waiting for it to knock me off my feet, to make me believe in all the things I called silly before, to show me things I’ve never seen before. To be honest, I’m simply waiting for somebody to come along who takes all of my beliefs and breaks them apart piece by piece.”

— n.j.

[cant-tellme-nothing-deactivated]

me: I’m over it

me: *thinks about it 6294729 times*

[weltenwellen]

“I can’t grow in the place that made me sick, but I have nowhere else to go. I have no choice but to call this place my home.”

— Juansen Dizon, Trapped In A Toxic Environment