real

the world may be broken but hope is not crazy.

[teentitan-]

Here I am, leaning towards drunkeness but really I'm just lonely. I feel like you're two thousand miles away and my lifeboat is sinking. You're the lighthouse just out of my reach. The horizon, if it lets us, will someday part so I can hold your hand. If you were a ship, you would be made of weathered cherry wood. So beautiful and so close to death. I'd try saving you a thousand times over and when you finally succumb to the water -  well, I'll still be standing with you. Even after, I'll drown myself just so you don't feel abandoned. This is what love looks like in the darkness. I hate going to sleep because you don't exist in there. What is the point of an empty heart if you're not the one to fill it?

lighting & hunger strikes - e.p.h.

[teentitan-]

to be born violent, a storm always swelling in my center, my fingers and mouth bruising and ripping away and fleeing, always fleeing. but i do have a nasty habit of coming back. people lie about how much they love me. they’re secondhand, and i love them so anxiously that i’ll steal their breath away. i’ll drown them in kisses. i’ll erode them to the bone. and they’ll hide from me the moment i become too much. you were different. you never saw anything like me. i’ve got a good look at your eyes because they’re fastened right over my shoulder. and the world is so large, you’ve never thought it’d be bigger than the palms of your hands. icarus, i fell in love with your reckless. and your smile. aren’t they just the same thing? the wax wings fastened to your back, i was never jealous of something before. but anything that touches you is suddenly my enemy. and the way you burst from the underworld like a flower defying winter - i’ve never begged to touch something so brave. i receded into myself, curled into my own still heart, unfurling in a long sigh when i saw you were safe in the air. i punched the shoreline and thought, “this is what his mouth might feel like.” i wanted to be up there, with him. not the sun. i wanted to be the sky. his wings dropped into me not long after. i felt myself bend around the wax like i was nothing but a drop of water. i felt icarus plunge into me, nothing but a boy with golden hair. but i loved him, i whispered. but he was mine. this is what loss feels like: the fog curling over the shoreline as i returned him to his home. the sun looming over my shoulder, always the thing icarus loved a little more. i was not the one who killed him but i still felt like the knife. the sea was never meant to love anyone. that’s why they drown angels within me.

“icarus” - e.p.h.

partly inspired by the the fall of icarus, “commentary” by p.d.

[teentitan-]

do not confuse a boy with a snowcapped mountain. do not confuse their stillness with gentleness. a mountain will collapse in on itself before ever being moved by the wind. he may be beautiful, but he's an avalanche. his weight will drown the world. do not confuse a boy with a river. both are innocent asleep but you can drown if you slip too hard. he's a whitewater rapid. he'll unfurl you from the beginning. even the beasts of the forest know not to touch his idea of gentle.

"mild talks" - e.p.h.

[teentitan-]

promise me this: when he leaves, you will not unwind yourself like a pen on paper. you won't become poetry. hurt is not beautiful, it's just hurt. and tearing a piece of yourself off just to give him something to remember you by, that's not something i'm willing to write poetry about. when he leaves, and he will - as love rots like a flower - you will wake up and mourn and then you will continue to be alive. you will put on your favorite shirt. not his favorite - yours. you won't do anything because of him. you won't become an emergency. you're going let all of that heartbreak crack the wood floor. you're going to erase him as if he's just chalk. it's not hard to get rid of him if your hands are soft like water. you're going to find happy. happy hurts like a blister, an open wound where your heart is supposed to be. but you're going to find it. he's not the only source of joy, stop acting like he is. he's nothing more than a boy who broke your heart. don't give him anything more than what he's already taken from you. when he leaves, i'm going to uncurl myself from this pain. i'm going to write a poem about healing that i haven't began yet. and i'm going to force the world to bend to me. i'll crack its spine if i have to. i'm going to find everything i lost, and i'm going to stitch this old wound back up so it'll be torn open again by someone who deserves it. when he leaves, i'm going to say, "did you expect me to be anything more than i already am? did you expect me to be more than just a girl?" promise me this: you won't call yourself a wilted flower. you won't belittle yourself because that's what he always did. and when someone else comes to your door, asking for your secrets - let them see. don't close yourself off. tell that truth for me. learn to hurt, and learn to overcome it, and learn to open up like spring. you're spring. you're that change we need. come alive, and leave winter buried with the dead.

"when he leaves" - e.p.h.

[teentitan-]

the way you hold me makes me feel like i'm gentle. i'm quiet like a fight. i've got secrets, thousands of them, buried deep in my skin like tics and scars and love bites. i can turn my wrists inward and you'd see so much longing that you'd never want to touch me again. you're not a matchstick, you know. you can't ignite, and you can't possibly keep everyone warm. you don't have to worry when the tips of our fingers turn blue. i'm not a cemetery. but i understand how one feels. i, too, cannot let go. here's a love poem: our atoms came from the same star. i'm sure, out there, millions of people share those same atoms. jupiter probably holds a part of you hostage. but it's only your body that feels like coming home.

"honey and blood, fragment 1" - e.p.h.

[teentitan-]

put your hand to my face and i'll swear to god i'll kiss it. i'm a matchstick but i'll ignite to keep you warm. it's not enough. it's never enough. but i'll still trying to make you happy. is this what we talk about when we talk about vulnerability? you said it's easy for me to open up. it's just easy for me to sink onto a sword already aimed at my chest. i've always wanted to self-destruct like this. in your arms, your tongue on the inside of my cheek, your hips as fragile as eggshells. you can show me any side of you and i'll still love it. i've already known you weren't a good person. i never said you had to be.

some fragments and a love poem - e.p.h.

[teentitan-]

maybe i'm the hero after all. maybe i don't need you, don't need anyone. i've got an alarm clock so no one will come wake me up anymore. and i've learned how to brew exactly one cup of coffee from all the times you weren't home. maybe i don't need him to remember what it's like to be touched. i don't need someone to kiss me and i don't need them to mean it, either. listen, i'm not a wild animal and i'm not a poem. i'm a girl with open palms and scars and i have a never-ending fear that socks are stuck to my coat after i pull it from the dryer. that's not a fear of abandonment. do you think i'll never heal if you're gone? do you think even for a second i wasn't whole before i met you? listen, i'm trying to be frank here. i'm trying to tell you that you're not the knight. so don't fool yourself into wearing plated armor. i don't need saving. i don't need someone to remind me to buy groceries, to go to the dentist, to brush my teeth after dinner. i don't need you to build me a fairytale from the broken bones of your ex-girlfriends. i think - i think i'm going to be okay. i'm not saying you should go. i'm saying i'll be alright if you leave. you can take the soul right out of me but i'll still be here. you can take the love right out of me but there will always be some i've saved for myself.

"i'm not the knight but the sword" - e.p.h.

[teentitan-]

we sat existing on the side of a highway that felt more like an empty stretch of my insides. we sat there waiting for something to slip - a hand down a pair of jeans a heart down the rib cage a confession out of mouth. i want it all. you. the moon. the ocean to drown our city. i want you to bite my jugular until i can't breathe. i want to break my teeth on your collarbone. your car wasn't just a car but a place of worship. pressed against the cold of the window, the condensation saturating the thread of my spine while you undid my insecurities: fuck, you're so holy. you're a miracle and my soul's been looking for one of those for a while now. when you drag your nail across my stomach i feel like you've known me for my whole life. the backseat was never large enough for how desperate we were, but the clothes dangling from the windows were white flags to surrender with. the highway was never long enough because eventually you'd have to take me home. if god only knew how much i love you, he'd send an angel to destroy me. i'm too feral to be human anymore. i'm going to break my fingers because they're useless if they're not clutching you.

"in your car, the night you showed me your insides" - e.p.h.

[teentitan-]

your love looks like a half-empty bottle of cherry wine and my skirt rolled up to my hip bones. a dark corner of an abandoned church, i’ll bite into you like bread. drink your love like the wine on sunday. i’m a wolf that’s chewed its leg off instead of saying ‘i love you.’ but i’ll show you my palms spread wide against your bare chest. directly over your heart like a poised knife. your love is desperate, fuming curling dripping down my throat when you kiss me. your love says things that you can’t. you think your tongue won’t betray you but i taste all of those secrets every time you pin me to the wall. and as you lift my shirt above my head, my truth pours out of me from a knife wound made with love: i’m going to show you my ugly and i’m going to lick your jawline at the same time. it’s the only chance we have to pretend we’re not broken. my love looks like a brief passing breathless crucial moment in which i don’t say anything but you know. it looks like a church at a hospital. the second that all of the worshippers bow their heads. my love looks like the frost on a window backlit by a street lamp. i’m not afraid to tell you i’m cold. it’s not my fault that you think i’m beautiful. kiss the poison right out of me. love the monster in me until it’s just a human again. i’ll be your girl until the world ends or until i bleed out, whichever one comes first. whichever one makes you happy.

“wolf” - e.p.h.

[teentitan-]

Drowning in a shallow puddle, smoking cigarettes since you're 14, loving so ardently that you're breathless. All of these are the same kind of dying when you write eulogies for a living.

"fragments of a coroner" - e.p.h.

[teentitan-]

Oh, you're not fooling anyone with that corkscrew smile. I know he treats you like a shattered leaf on the ground during winter. Is he the person stepping you to pieces or the snow burying you alive? You don't have to say anything. No, I know the signs because I see them in a broken mirror. Do you also cringe at the thought of someone treating you gentle? And when you come to see me with red fingers kissing your wrists, do you also say they're of your own creation? Is it a choice to be afraid of the bedroom? I know you, dear, don't introduce yourself. You're afraid of company and loneliness and you think you look like the word 'sorry.' Everything is your fault these days. You're original sin to him. 'Home' means anywhere but here. And that bruise on your neck, I know it's not made of love. It's made of ownership. It's a branding. It's a fucking curse word. Oh, love is not a rattlesnake. My poor girl, you can't sidestep it in fear it'll lurch at you. Who taught you that romance is supposed to hurt? Who taught you it makes sense to die young? I can't save you, dear. I can't pick you up and drive you a thousand miles away from whatever hurts you. And I can't prevent you from wilting when the winter comes. But this. This is not love. His clenches fists are not declarations of devotion, your hair hiding the bruises is not a wedding vow. You're a star that he shot out of the sky because he wanted to be selfish. You're not what he says you are. You're not unloveable. You're not supposed to be this broken. Nobody told you this would be easy. But we never said you should hit the floor that hard.

"a letter to the girl i see a part of myself inside of" - e.p.h.

[teentitan-]

If I’m being brave, I’d tell you that I miss you even when you’re here. I miss your hands on my cheeks in my mouth checking the indents between my ribs for life. Bravery is sacrifice, bravery is telling you that I love you and I know that you’re leaving but I’ll still love you anyway. And while I’m still being brave, let me say this: you have so much love in your chest that it’s killing you. How many nights do you spend awake, keeping a girl alive just to prove you care? You don’t look like an emergency room. You’re not a suicide hotline, people don’t get to dial you up whenever they want to kill something besides themselves. The reason you don’t have a heart anymore is because they took it from you. I can’t love you the way I want to. So I’ll do it from far away. I’ll worry about the circles under your eyes and the way they look like the moon the night you kissed me. I’ll worry about how you turn yourself off just to wake up in a day or two, those half-smiles only half back to normal. I can’t love you the way I want to, so I’ll do it in the way I know best: I’ll continue to haunt the corners of your eyes and brush myself off your shoulders. I’ll wait like church doors, flung open, a little prayer for the sinners who can’t make it back home in time. If I’m being brave, I’d tell you there is a way to come back from the place that you’re buried in. But until then, I’ll just keep sending notes to your coffin, asking for the boy who lives there to smile when he’s ready to see me again.

"sharp things" - e.p.h.

[teentitan-]

Here's the truth about love: it's the way his hands wrapped around my throat as he prayed to a God that didn't believe in him. It's the way my fingers clawed blood-red hymns down his back in an act of ruthless bravery. His mouth tasted like a miracle. Mine tasted like an act of betrayal. Love is the way his mouth curved when he said, "We can't do this." It's the way my tongue licked the inside of his cheek afterwards. And the slow burns, the rhythm of  hip bone against hip bone. Our teeth crashed together like the waves I'd like to drown myself in. He held my hand like a Bible. He used my body like a church, I used his as a coffin. My eulogy is painted along his chest, blue and purple and black bite marks that'd fade away before another girl marks her place there. The pain of losing him feels like a change of season. He whispered exactly what he wanted to do to me, tugging my shirt over my belly, kissing the faint birth marks that stretched themselves over my skin. He whispered that he loved me in the same breath of air that he used to say he'd destroy me. This is the truth about love: you can love a million people, love a million little things about them. You can worship them, kiss them, make them die softly. But love is an organic thing. There is no way you can stop it from growing.

"His wings were burnt but his eyes were wide open” - e.p.h.

[lavellanfirst]

I want everyone I love to know basic first-aid and bullet wound procedures after this tragedy.  America is a dangerous, dangerous place to live and without change, we will be forced to ready ourselves for unforeseen tragedies like the one yesterday.  I hate having to do this but it could save lives.  in the event that you are in an active shooting, or the moments right after and emergency services are not at the scene, this is a list of treating varying conditions

  how to treat four types of gun wounds

 general emergency bullet wound treatment

 broken bones

head trauma

 severe bleeding

 shock 

spinal injury

broken neck + tips on CPR

things to know:

the average “activer-shooter incident” lasts twelve minutes.  37% of shootings happen in less than five.

what to do for a collapsed lung

first aid for lowering blood pressure - high blood pressure can cause you to bleed out

*Note that all of these are in the event of an emergency where you cannot contact the police or an ambulance.  don’t try to treat a broken neck or a collapsed lung when you have the ability to dial 9-1-1.  I understand that you may not retain anything on this list, but hopefully you can remember what not to do when applying first aid on someone.

tell the people you love how much you care for them.  when you feel like something’s not right, speak up and leave the area.  know at least one other exit in the buildings you travel to frequently - work, movie theatre, mall, etc. please stay safe.  watch out for you and your friends.

[teentitan-]

Soon, there will be nothing but the ashes that we left behind. This is where the war took hold of us. I didn't want this to happen, I never wanted us to wave a flag made of white roses. I thought we were invincible as long as the bombs were cradled in our chests. You are made of hydrogen and your heart sinks when you think of how much you can destroy with your hands. Everything you touch, even the most pretty things, burns. Do you know how to live without hurting? Do you know that you were not born a monster, but they needed you to become one? You could have done some amazing things. The world just needed a killer and you are the one who they called upon. There is no more creation inside of you. But that does not mean you do not deserve love. We are atomic beings. To split from you is a gut-wrench, a stab in the back, but to come together again is too painful to bear. We burn everything around us when we kiss. We don't know anything but death. This is it, this is the truth that we were given the day we met: You are become Death, I am Destroyer of Worlds.

e.p.h. “atomic”

[teentitan-]

Poetry has healed me so the jagged scars I bear are words to my ex-lovers. They are letters to the girls who spit acid at me in fierce, intangible hatred and they are ways to tell my parents I'm sorry. I write so you may understand why I'm not as okay as I used to be. The girl who would die for you. Not even if you asked me. I'm not the girl who will cry if you leave. Not anymore.  Not ever again. I write so I will never be the girl who misses you again. Poetry stitched up my chest, wrapped gauze around my knuckles, set ice against my black eyes. It taught me to grow flowers in a graveyard that used to be my chest. And it taught me not to die for anybody. Not for God. Not even for a man. I am not a rose garden anymore. I am not the rocks that the ocean hits "with love." I am not the paint used for a masterpiece, forgettable when the picture is finished and the artist is dead. I am blood and oil. Carved from a mountain and burned to ash, you will never be able to set fire to me again.

e.p.h. “hiatus”

[awwww-cute]

The good kind of furball (Source: http://ift.tt/1SmlYH8)