Words that I have never spoken

I'm an aspiring writer and poet, I will post some of my work and would love any feedback.

[northern-proper]

One of the hardest things you will ever have to do my dear is grieve the loss of a person who is still alive.

My father’s advice #1 (via northern-proper)

[h-anging-deactivated20190805]

[thoughts-with-wings]

At a certain point you have to admit to yourself that no matter how much you want them to call or text you or show any sign of giving a fuck, that it’s just not going to happen. At that point you have to choose whether to move on and stop basing your life around the dream of another or wallow in self pity and self hatred.

[atticuspoetry]

‘Fork in the Road’ @atticuspoetry #atticuspoetry

[leave-me-colourless]

[writingsforwinter]

The Morning After I Killed Myself

The morning after I killed myself, I woke up.

I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.

The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.

The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.

The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started.

[shes-cured]

I needed this tonight

[thequeen117-deactivated20150917]

If you’re looking for a sign not to then this is it. My inbox is open if you think talking to a stranger will help.

[learnhowtoadult]

This is devastating and precious. Wow.

[thespiderpuppies818-deactivated]

If anyone needs this, here you go. Just remember that somebody, somewhere always cares about you.

[6middleminded6-deactivated20190]

damn this is so personal i cant post nothing else for three days.. damn

[6middleminded6-deactivated20190]

had to reblog again..sorry

[daraniashley]

[relatable-memes]

[thegayestbean]

“My alarm clock goes off at 6:00 sharp. By 6:05 I’m in the shower. And out by 6:15. By 6:30 I’m dressed and my hair is done. By 6:40 I’m trying to eat breakfast. By 6:55 I’m brushing my teeth. And by 7:00 I’m out the door and on my way to school. From 7:15-8:30 I’m finishing homework and studying for my classes in the library. From 8:35-3:05 I’m in the prison walls we call school. My brains scattered and confused filled with equations I have to remember. My day is filled with "you’ll need to know this for the test” “if you fail this you could fail my class” and “this project is worth a lot of points” it’s a continuous cycle of hearing kids say “I don’t care” “it doesn’t matter” and “I need to do this” “I need to pass” Walking down the hallways I see kids who look like zombies. I see kids hyped up on red bull or monster or whatever keeps them ‘going’ so they can make it through the school day. By 6th hour everyone has checked out and the worst part is there’s still 45 mins left of school. By 3:00 the teacher has stopped talking because no one is listening. They’re all too excited to get out of this place. But what slows them down is that by 3:15 they are home. And by 3:30 they’re leaving to get to their jobs that start at 3:45. And by 9:00 when they finally get off they just want to sleep. But they can’t because even though it’s now 11:50 they still have a essay to write for English and the draft is due tomorrow. By 2:00 we finally go to bed. And at 6:00 sharp, the alarm clock goes off. And we do it all over again.“

Day after day, it’s the same routine. (via as-frozen-as-ur-soul)

[wnq-writers]

I write about a face I rarely see nowadays and a heart that I used to live in but now only drive by on my way to the liquor store I write to share the love you once gave me and so the world could know your spirit So now a few people are reading and some like it too But it all makes me feel damn lonely because the readers know your beauty, but I write about a face I rarely see nowadays

drunkenliterature (via wnq-writers)

[dollpoetry]

I crave touch, yet I flinch every time someone is close enough.

(via paintdeath)

[jesusandcoffee]

[movedto-kohlweis]

i press my hands to your ribs i play them like piano keys because i like the noises you make echoing in the belly of my bedroom lying on an altar too small for our holiness your skin burns me but not in a way that makes me want to stop touching you more in the way that a hypothermia patient might bathe in a blazing fire for those few moments before my nerves are numbed i have never been so alive an iridescent sacrifice to aphrodite i feel everything in the simple infinity of your breaths (breathe in) i can feel rome spreading across europe like a disease (breathe out) i can feel rome collapsing in on itself too powerful and sprawling for its own good i pick at the scabs that a past version of myself left i feel the temples crumble under my fingernails all gods forgotten in that moment between euphoria and the lamp crashing on the floor we will burn an extra candle later an apology to the gods but for now it’s just us

spiteful sacrifices to the gods // (a.e.)

[deadangelo]

helen did not intend to start a war. she never meant for her face to launch a thousand ships, for her love to bring troy to its knees. she never asked to be pretty. athena did not curse medusa. she did not blame poseidon’s unfortunate lover. she only ever meant to protect her from the evils of men who would only disappoint her. artemis did not punish callisto for her father’s sins. she did not kill the nymph - her sister - in cold blood because of a broken oath. she loved her; she killed her; she saved her. ariadne did not hate theseus for abandoning her on that island. she did not spit on his grave with a mouth full of scorn. she forgave him; for, if he hadn’t let her go, she never would have become a goddess - more than the hero ever was. calypso did not mean to keep odysseus for so long. she did not hate penelope. she simply loved too deeply, with too open of a heart. persephone did not eat the pomegranate by mistake. she was not a helpless young girl who had no choice of her own. she had a choice, and she chose a kingdom over a patch of grass and a queen’s crown for a princess’s tiara. stop blaming the woman for the man’s mistake, or they will watch you burn.

women do not destroy nations; we built them // t.y. (via deadangelo)

[psych-facts]

“I have lost and loved and won and cried myself to the person I am today.”

Charlotte Eriksson, Empty Roads & Broken Bottles; in search for The Great Perhaps (via psych-facts)

[thoughts-with-wings]

My own medicine

When I first met you I’ll admit,

I saw a bandaid romance and freeze-dried warmth.

I knew that you were entranced 

by my painted-on smile and careless eyes

(there’s something attractive about someone who doesn’t give a damn).

I spun a temporary web that led us both to doom,

for how was i suppose to know

that desire can burn through pain 

and clear the ground for new seasons?

For as i fell asleep in your arms,

I still yearned for them to be his

but your innocent lips held red poison

that worked its way past faded memories.

And as you drove away that day, 

I found myself dizzy from my own spell;

as I stood there missing you, I realized that i fell.

[thoughts-with-wings]

Crazy

Maybe I’m crazy.

I mean it is crazy,

to think that he could be it,

that I fell in love with a stranger.

I mean I’ve had longer relationships with my contacts 

than I’ve been with him.

But falling asleep alone tonight 

feels a lot like trying to sleep in snow

and he is a warm familiar house,

with a comfy bed and welcoming lights.

He is always the thing that i want. 

Even when I am not thinking of him he is there

and if that is not love than what the fuck is?