Friday Jul 7 @ 09:09pm with 122,184 notes

— Denis Johnson


— Denis Johnson

Thursday Jul 7 @ 03:40pm with 1,028 notes
Tuesday Jun 6 @ 09:44pm with 2,712 notes

does this even make sense or


does this even make sense or

Monday Jun 6 @ 02:39am with 2,596 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 52,581 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 79,347 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 305,163 notes
But jesus fuck I’d swallow poison if it tasted like you. (via extrasad) Saturday May 5 @ 02:35am with 118,611 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 316,568 notes
Wednesday May 5 @ 10:56pm with 202,293 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 591 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 68,157 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 2,679 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 436,229 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 103,840 notes