ojovivo
One Nice Bug Per Day
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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Three Goblin Art
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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Fai_Ryy
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Mike Driver
hello vonnie
Monterey Bay Aquarium
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Today's Document
ellievsbear
almost home
Not today Justin
KIROKAZE
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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@thefuryofaginger-blog
The person you love won’t always make you happy. If love is a tattoo then it won’t always ink laugh lines into the corners of your eyes or needle joy into the grooves of your heart waiting to be filled. Sometimes it will leave bruises in the corners of your skin where you assumed only color would...
When my grandmother first said “those” three words to my grandfather,
she said them by tossing a pinch of salt over her shoulder at their wedding.
When I first really said them, they were to myself as an apology
for nineteen years of viewing my body as a wound in need...
Your fingerprints are all over who I am now.
Christina Grimme (via nofatnowhip)
I was 19 when I finally stopped opening the door for unrequited love. I was 20 when I first learned that courage tasted like bitter wine and metal. Like blood and honey. When I told you I loved you, I screamed it. I let it rip it’s way out of my throat, and it felt so good that I cried. The other day, you walked by me with your friends and I could feel the pity in your stare. Don’t you do that. Don’t you look at what I had for you and call it weak. Not when you were the one afraid of it. I stood there with my hands open, my mouth bruised tender with supplication. Don’t you dare treat me like a victim of my own emotions, like being moved to my knees by love was a mistake that I regret. I will go to my grave with the memory of the bravery in my bones. I am not ashamed of any of it. Not the closed door in my face or the static silence of my phone for weeks after. I was not afraid. I am still not afraid. I will never be afraid again. Bring in the beasts with teeth like tree branches. Bring in all the men who will never love me. Bring in the monsters with faces carved out of stone. I am not afraid. They can eat me alive. I am not afraid. I will cut my way out of their bellies. I am not afraid. Never again.
Unrequited | Caitlyn S. (via kanyequeen)
Look, let me put it this way: with me, you’re number one and there isn’t even a number two.
Charles Bukowski (via hobbitology)
You smell like a flower that is neither alive nor dead, because no one has changed its water for weeks. You have a sleepy smell, like when you wake up in the morning and you’ve been dreaming too long.
Legături bolnăvicioase (via felicefawn)
I already said too much. I already shared too much, and I want all my secrets back. I hate getting close to people these days, I always regret sharing too much, caring too much, doing too much, feeling too much.
Anonymous (via latenitelevision)
I am not beautifully broken. I was ripped to shreds from the inside out.
Michelle K., Beautifully Broken (via 929miles)
Here’s what I’ve got, the reasons why our marriage might work: Because you wear pink but write poems about bullets and gravestones. Because you yell at your keys when you lose them, and laugh, loudly, at your own jokes. Because you can hold a pistol, gut a pig. Because you memorize songs, even commercials from thirty years back and sing them when vacuuming. You have soft hands. Because when we moved, the contents of what you packed were written inside the boxes. Because you think swans are overrated. Because you drove me to the train station. You drove me to Minneapolis. You drove me to Providence. Because you underline everything you read, and circle the things you think are important, and put stars next to the things you think I should think are important, and write notes in the margins about all the people you’re mad at and my name almost never appears there. Because you make that pork recipe you found in the Frida Khalo Cookbook. Because when you read that essay about Rilke, you underlined the whole thing except the part where Rilke says love means to deny the self and to be consumed in flames. Because when the lights are off, the curtains drawn, and an additional sheet is nailed over the windows, you still believe someone outside can see you. And one day five summers ago, when you couldn’t put gas in your car, when your fridge was so empty—not even leftovers or condiments— there was a single twenty-ounce bottle of Mountain Dew, which you paid for with your last damn dime because you once overheard me say that I liked it.
Matthew Olzmann, ”Mountain Dew Commercial Disguised As A Love Poem” (via larmoyante)
An amazing thing happens when you get honest with yourself and start doing what you love, what makes you happy. Your life literally slows down. You stop wishing for the weekend. You stop merely looking forward to special events. You begin to live in each moment and you start feeling like a human being. You just ride the wave that is life, with this feeling of contentment and joy. You move fluidly, steadily, calm and grateful. A veil is lifted, and a whole new perspective is born.
(via silver-blonde)
…You hate your life. But you don’t know what life is. Life is too huge for you to possibly hate. If you hate life, you haven’t seen enough of it. If you hate your life, it’s because your life is too small and doesn’t fit you.
Augusten Burroughs (via recoveryisbeautiful)
Until you heal the wounds of your past, you are going to bleed. You can bandage the bleeding with food, with alcohol, with drugs, with work, with cigarettes, with sex; But eventually, it will all ooze through and stain your life. You must find the strength to open the wounds, Stick your hands inside, pull out the core of the pain that is holding you in your past, the memories and make peace with them.
Iyanla Vanzant (via clintology)
The thing that no one ever tells you about depression is that it has nothing to do with being sad. It’s being hollow.
Kevin Burke (via almazingdingo)
Lily Myers - “Shrinking Women” (CUPSI 2013)
“As she shrinks, the space around her seems increasingly vast.”
Lily Myers, of Wesleyan University, performing at the 2013 College Unions Poetry Slam Invitational. This piece was awarded Best Love Poem in the tournament.
But seriously.
10. Self destructive behavior is not beautiful.
Being broken does not make someone love you. There is nothing lovely about hurting yourself from the inside out. It’s bullshit that things like Bulimia are being romanticized these days. Bulimia is not pretty, it is not handsome. It will not bring you joy. It is like a blinding monster, obstructing the sky and spouting a blaze of fire. Bulimia won’t bring anything positive, I swear. All you stand to gain from Bulimia is red knees, watery eyes, and one hell of a sore throat.
The sadness will last forever.
Suicide note of Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890)
You miss the sickness and sadness but that’s not a kind of life to want, that’s not a kind of life to love.
Michelle K., Recovery Thoughts. (via sadlittlewords)
