i lost my words when i saw your profile today ,i can't imagine to see a picture of urs

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ojovivo
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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Not today Justin

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Keni
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

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@titansaresexy
i lost my words when i saw your profile today ,i can't imagine to see a picture of urs
And for my next trick, I will love myself so deeply, so thoughtfully, so softly that even the embers of my will in fire threaten who dares to offer me less.
I believe in stories that stain the mouth.
There is a wolf buried beneath every well-behaved woman; they mistake her bared teeth for violence. But, They never notice the muzzle still scarred from years of biting, though its own hunger.
Close your eyes, fall in love with yourself, stay there.
I think there's a part of me that likes a little grief, almost craves it.
I crawl in the moss, it is easy to find god. She is a cluster of eels beneath my palms. I ask her, am I doing any of this life right? And she, with her many mouths, says nothing...
Don't ask me for life advice, because I am going to tell you to leave. Leave the man. Leave the job. Leave the country. Leave it alone. Leave them alone. Leave me alone if you need to. Because one thing about me. I am gonna leave when it's time to go.
God, if solitude is the portion you wrote for me - unmake the hunger first, It is cruel to leave a man starving in a city with no bread.
I can love someone for all their flaws, yet feel like I need to be flawless for someone to love me back.
They call you heartless, but you do have a heart; it is there...but it's too ashamed to show itself again.
Life has its own way of humbling you.
I am disgustingly self aware. There's nothing you can tell me that I haven't spent ample time reflecting on.
I remember one night I died, and the next morning I got up, took a shower, got dressed and went on with my life.
Not big on love anymore. But, Oh man, you should've seen me when I was...
I have a graveyard inside me; the name I don't say. Memories I don't touch. Versions of myself I buried because nobody came to save them. And somehow, I still dust these graves, hoping the murderers will come back with a red rose.
It is a strange feeling- not heartbreak, not rejection, but something quieter than that. Like finding out you have been reading your own life slightly wrong for a while.