poet. musician. writer. tea enthusiast. she/her.

  Words! Mere words! How terrible they were! How clear, and vivid, and cruel! One could not escape from them. And yet what a subtle magic there was in them! They seemed to be able to give a plastic form to formless things, and to have a music of their own as sweet as that of viol or of lute. Mere words! Was there anything so real as words?  

[disastroids-deactivated20230527]

i hate being poor because i have to scroll past good causes i HATE it and i will neve be rich enough to give money to every good cause but the people who are will never be good enough.

[ulibeanzz]

straight people really think that i dont want to be around homophobes because i find their “opinions” unsavory like its disagreeing on economic policy or some shit. the reality is that i dont want to be around homophobic people because they pose a direct threat to me, because i am terrified of them and the potential violence they bring, because feeling their judgment is enough to make me lean back into self hatred and shame. please dont act like my refusal to chill with your local bigot is obstinate and unreasonable  

[godlessfemme-deactivated2021052]

a field of strawberries–

I sneak pressed violets into the novel you love,

rich purple, over cream coloured pages–

you smile at me; that ethereal, cherubic smile.

I could delve into the mahogany of your irises

till sundown, till all light fades, till i can't see anymore.

I grasp your hands with all the adoration in the universe.

the vast stretch of strawberries–

the violets–

the azure sky, with cottony clouds–

all those marvellous things, yet

the only beauty I want

is you.

[wwildhoneyy]

gasoline.

each time she hit the ground

she stayed down ‘till it was safe. 

then she fixed her makeup, carried on

and hid beneath a poker face. 

she held her tongue each time

new bruises would appear.

there was refuge in the darkness 

although she lived in fear. 

they could take away her reputation-

strip away her pride

but she could save a little face

if no one heard her cries. 

so she chose armor over solace 

then removed her heart from her sleeve. 

now she’ll trade her tears for acetone.

her blood for gasoline.  

I’m giving you a warning. 

I’m giving you a chance.

remember to consider this

next time you light a match.

[wishbzne-deactivated20210526]

Those lovers are mostly gone. My hands remain—: like altars.

Natalie Diaz, from The Hand Has Twenty-Seven Bones—: These Hands If Not Gods (via wishbzne)

[wwildhoneyy]

little things to look forward to <3

-all the books you haven’t read yet 

-new music 

-road trips with your friends

-late night diners 

-finally getting all the tattoos you want

-decorating your first apartment/home

-singing your heart out in the car

-the people who will mean the world to you that you haven’t met yet 

-learning a new instrument 

-needing to buy more shelves to fit all of your books 

-midnight bonfires 

-thunderstorms 

[quotemadness]

Do not fear to lose what needs to be lost.

Sue Monk Kidd (via quotemadness)

[quotemadness]

A writer is someone who has taught his mind to misbehave.

Oscar Wilde (via quotemadness)

[wwildhoneyy]

missing:

sunbeams 

kissing a faintly freckled cheek

dimpled 

by the corners of a gap-toothed smile. 

fogged windows 

peppered with little hand prints

and wide eyes 

fixated on the unrelenting flurries outside.  

scraped legs 

clambering clumsily up to her tree fort

with light-up shoes

on the wrong feet. 

last seen: 

scribbling away 

in her little pink notebook

as her very first stanzas

fell into place. 

standing timidly 

in her big brother’s doorway 

in search of a bigger bed 

to crawl into. 

tossing clothes

into her princess backpack 

to run away from home. 

she doesn’t understand why the darkness is following her. 

if found: 

please 

tell her I miss her. 

I haven’t felt the sun

in so long. 

[wwildhoneyy]

for you.

for you 

I took an axe to the walls 

I’d built so painstakingly. 

you promised there was a better world outside. 

for you 

I cautiously undid my deadbolts and chains 

to reveal the unhinged chaos beneath the surface. 

you promised not to judge. 

for you 

I held my tongue each time you left me behind

with another mess to clean up. 

you promised I was safe in the palm of your hand. 

for you 

I was made of porcelain. 

but all you did

was clench your fist. 

[honeysweetdisaster]

head canon where all my friends are okay and happy and we live by the sea in a cozy oregon town and pick flowers and play dnd in the evenings and everyone has grown older but never grown up and we sip lavender lemonade in the summer breeze and hot cocoa in the snow and we care for each other like our parents did not.

[wwildhoneyy]

we’ll get there. 

[girlclothes]

Cassandra Troyan

[wwildhoneyy]

a little poem i wrote the other day

dear little girl, 

I’m sorry I spent your childhood telling you 

you took up too much 

space. 

I should have let you be the wildfire that you are.  

I’m sorry I waited so long

to dress your wounds. 

I didn’t understand that we didn’t have to be scarred.  

I’m sorry for each opportunity to get better I turned down. 

I wasn’t ready to let go yet; 

I didn’t know who we would be without the darkness. 

I’m sorry for getting us 

so sick. 

I had no idea how brutal this fight would be.  

I’m sorry for holding my tongue 

and hiding the bruises. 

I should have let you speak out. 

I’m sorry for telling you 

the world would turn away when you reached out your hand. 

I thought I was protecting you. 

dear little girl, 

I’m sorry. 

I promise 

to spend the rest of our life 

trying to make it up to you.