Tuesday Jun 6 @ 09:44pm with 2,707 notes

does this even make sense or


does this even make sense or

Monday Jun 6 @ 02:39am with 2,588 notes


dear straight people,

aye yo tumblr, we need to talk about how this slam poem will fucking change your life

Monday Jun 6 @ 02:37am with 52,129 notes

Physically, yes I can live without you. 
I can eat, breathe, and sleep easily without you.

But if I’m not sharing half of a medium pizza with you, then I don’t want to eat.

And if I can’t feel your body move up and down as you breathe, I see no purpose in breathing.

And if I’m not waking up chest deep wrapped in your arms, then I don’t want to sleep.

i’ve never wanted someone this badly  (via suchvodka) Saturday May 5 @ 01:26am with 77,839 notes

Stop setting yourself

on fire for someone who

stays to watch you burn.

Haiku on Perspective | connotativewords | jl (via 09994) Saturday May 5 @ 03:03am with 304,332 notes
But jesus fuck I’d swallow poison if it tasted like you. (via extrasad) Saturday May 5 @ 02:35am with 112,502 notes


I hope one day
somebody loves you
so much

that they see violets
in the bags under your eyes,
sunsets in the downward arch
of your lips,

that they recognize you
as something green,
something fresh and still growing,
even if sometimes
you are growing sideways,

that they do not waste their time
trying to fix you.

Sunday May 5 @ 02:20am with 314,963 notes
Wednesday May 5 @ 10:56pm with 196,556 notes
You called me last night,
but I need you to know that i’m finally happy.
I don’t want to hear about how you’ve been.
I don’t want to hear that you miss me.
I don’t care that you can’t sleep,
when you stay up thinking about the past.
Don’t ask me if i still care about what we had.
Don’t tell me that i’m the only one who never lets you down.
I know that.
I used to be proud of that.
But I let all those feelings go.
Now I don’t miss you like I used to.
Now i’m sure you never really felt the same way back.
Now I know that I just settled,
because I thought you were the one.
So stop telling me that you’ve missed me.
Stop asking me not to throw everything away.
I used to pray to hear you say,
“Take me back.”
But i’m done being used.
I’m not your second choice.
It’s finally over now.
Stop asking me not to throw everything away.
You did that a long time ago.
I don’t miss you like I used to (via eatingwhitebabies) Sunday May 5 @ 12:20pm with 592 notes
At 19, I read a sentence that re-terraformed my head: “The level of matter in the universe has been constant since the Big Bang.”
In all the aeons we have lost nothing, we have gained nothing - not a speck, not a grain, not a breath. The universe is simply a sealed, twisting kaleidoscope that has reordered itself a trillion trillion trillion times over.
Each baby, then, is a unique collision - a cocktail, a remix - of all that has come before: made from molecules of Napoleon and stardust and comets and whale tooth; colloidal mercury and Cleopatra’s breath: and with the same darkness that is between the stars between, and inside, our own atoms.
When you know this, you suddenly see the crowded top deck of the bus, in the rain, as a miracle: this collection of people is by way of a starburst constellation. Families are bright, irregular-shaped nebulae. Finding a person you love is like galaxies colliding. We are all peculiar, unrepeatable, perambulating micro-universes - we have never been before and we will never be again. Oh God, the sheer exuberant, unlikely fact of our existences. The honour of being alive. They will never be able to make you again. Don’t you dare waste a second of it thinking something better will happen when it ends. Don’t you dare.
Caitlin Moran (via scatteredandshining) Sunday May 5 @ 03:27am with 67,742 notes

I have read countless stories
About beautiful girls
With mental illnesses

And they cry and they are beautiful,
and yet they still laugh sometimes,
and their world is made
to look so glamorous

It’s so romantic,
to see a beautiful girl,
shattered at the wrists,
and she hates herself,
but not really.

Because when I became depressed,
It was not beautiful,
And I especially wasn’t either.

When I became depressed,
I wore the same sweatshirt to school,
three weeks in a row.

I convinced myself,
that I could not get out of bed,
or my feet would shatter upon hitting the floor,
and sometimes,
I felt that I couldn’t breathe.

My friends thought that my illness was special,
that it made me mysterious,
and that I was something beautiful and broken,

My dad told me,
Calm down,
It’s all in your head.

Of course it is,
I don’t want it there,
Get it out of there.

And the stigma was the worst,
I felt that I could tell nobody.

Of all the terrible thoughts that plagued my mind,
Because I was taught that I would get labeled,
And that I’m a psycho,
And to keep it to myself that I take pills to be happy,

I was taught that people in the psych ward are loony,
and that they can’t think for themselves,
that they go in the room with padded walls,
and they never come out.

I need more representation,
of the so called ‘psychos’
because we are stronger than you think we are.

They think they know us,
They think they can put us in a dark corner,
and forget that we plague the human race.

But we are all around,
One in four people is mentally ill.
We are your brothers and sisters,
classmates, friends.

And we are not crazy.

A poem I wrote for a project on mental illness for class (via dontfeedthefangirls) Sunday May 5 @ 03:23am with 2,678 notes
Maybe home is nothing but two arms holding you tight when you’re at your worst. (via eatingwhitebabies) Saturday May 5 @ 04:10pm with 415,890 notes
My mother doesn’t like tattoos. She says art belongs on a wall. Well I say no one, not even my mother gets to tell me that I can’t be a masterpiece. Hannah Snowdon  (via s-adfairy) Friday May 5 @ 02:02am with 102,569 notes

I still remember how I felt when we had our first kiss: I was drunk, and so were you, and it felt like we were the only two in the room. I’d never understood the phrase “seeing sparks fly” but I could see fireworks behind my eyelids that night. 
I still remember how I felt when we saw our first shooting star: I wished for you, and you wished for me, and it was cold so you gave me your jacket and we sat on the shoreline and watched the waves crash into the darkness and we became us. 
I still remember how I felt when we first said I love you: I was scared, and so were you, but you had been working up the courage all day so I tried to be smooth and lean against my door but I tripped and you helped me up. I said “I love you, too” even though the first one was never said, and your eyes were so bright they could light up the darkest parts of me that night. when we kissed, I felt butterflies in the saddest parts of my soul. 
But two years later, and you got tired. Tired of dealing with my depression, tired of dealing with the fights. When you said I love you, you couldn’t even light a candle, almost as if it had become a bored habit. You told me I was too negative and you needed some space. 
So you left. 
I still remember how I felt when you kissed me goodbye: like the butterflies were trying to escape my soul, flutter around you and bring us back to a time when we were happier, to a time when fireworks and butterflies were all we needed. like maybe if I kept kissing you, you wouldn’t walk out the door, but you pulled away and when the door closed, it felt like my ribcage was breaking, filling my lungs with all the things I could’ve said to try and make you stay. our love was a fire that had burned bright but faded out and I was left with a match but we had tried too many times and the gasoline wasn’t around. 
I still remember how I felt without you: the demons invite themselves in now, the darkness overwhelms me most of the time. life is a daily routine that i never really want to be in anyway, and the only thing that makes me feel alive is remembering your smile. i wanted to love every inch of your soul, and understand where your weaknesses were, but instead you left me this busted, broken person who would rather let the depression win than fight to survive. now, when i turn off the lights, i know i won’t ever wake up next to you again, and I’m still trying to figure out how to be alright. one day, flowers may grow in my soul where the butterflies once were, but now it’s an empty, barren wasteland from the fire that used to rage within us and that makes me feel out of control. i know you’re doing fine, and that’s the part that makes me feel out of my fucking mind.

Friday May 5 @ 01:19am with 2 notes

I wish that whenever depression starts to seep into what’s left of your happiness that you remembered how to fight.
but sometimes, it’s easier to lose yourself to the demons than it is to find the light.
if I knew how to fill you up again, I would, but sometimes the hollowed out crevices of your mind seem to make you feel more at home.
and that’s alright.
I just hope you’ll come back to me, and remember your worth is not determined by what you tell yourself at night.

Friday May 5 @ 12:59am with 0 notes