i missed being able to breathe. i missed being happy. i forgot what it was like because after a while, you get used to being empty. i no longer feel a cold rain inside of my bones. i forgot that everything is easier with sunlight in your veins. i forgot what it was like to be okay.

I’m doing well for the first time in a while.” /// r.i.d

I only write when I’m
Falling
Falling asleep
Falling in love
Falling apart.
One day I’ll hit the ground.

-JP- itrhymeswithperry

Six line poem day #6

magnificentruin:

Mel Bochner

You’re in my veins. No. You’re in my heart. No. You’re in my blood. No. Yes. You’re in every part I call mine and in all parts I dare not name or know and yet love. Silence. Let me have it out: I am a weak person but I’m brave when it comes to loving you. I can’t bear the uncertainty I currently read in your eyes; I can’t bare to witness the fear inside your gaze — that terror over me possibly hurting myself or over you not being able to be with me in all the ways you used to. I can’t bare you feeling that you have to tear yourself in two halves in order to please me so that we can both pretend that everything’s precisely as it was. I’m not interested in the leftovers, darling. I’m interested in the whole thing. I’ve been loving the whole thing. So, we’re still here and it’s supposed to be enough; first impersonal morning text and what has changed howls mercilessly and I feel bad. 10-minute alone meeting before others actually join us and we’re both feeling uncomfortable and we’re both craving that others’ arrival is going to take some of the uneasiness away. And still, I look at you and all I feel for you is love. I look at you and every sense of discomfort turns into an emotional overflow and I can’t think, I can’t pretend, I can’t conceal the feeling, I can’t put the emotion away, I can’t silence my own fearful silence. I look at you and I love, I love, I love. And if that means that I should let go, I will, although in truth, I won’t. Ever. It’s just going to feel like I’m distancing. I will because perhaps, right now, this is what we mutually need. I will because what I feel for you is infinite. I will because in spite of my fear, I know, we’ll both be alright. I will, because what matters to me more than my own self-protection is the love itself. And since I know it’s love, I will because I’m not scared. I’m more scared to stay without staying; I’m more scared to put on a mask and compromise when I know, deep in my heart, that I can’t compromise. I can’t settle for anything less than what we had. I don’t want to settle for anything else. If I’m honest with myself, I really, truly need to leave and turn this absence into an honest, powerful and solid presence. And I don’t know whether I have the guts to do it but I promise that if I’ll be doing it, it won’t be an act of escapism. It’s going to be an act of bravery. And you’ll hopefully understand. You’ll hopefully come to feel that this is the way I have loved you and this is my way of continuing to love you. I’d rather go away, darling. I’d rather go away than rot inside some false half-friendship. I’d rather go away than come back home to myself each night and get to feel as empty as a shadow, as vacant and ghost-like as someone who didn’t dare do any justice to what they were feeling. I am not scared of loneliness, darling. I am scared of losing track of what’s real and what’s not. I am scared to begin doubting my own soul strength when it comes to loving you, me, and us. I don’t want that. I love you too much for that. I still love this so frightfully much. But I want to love it for what it is, not for what it isn’t, wasn’t and shall never be. And it’s not ever going to be mediocre. Ever. We wouldn’t let it. I’m sure.

cruel mothers are still mothers.
they make us wars.
they make us revolution.
they teach us the truth, early.
mothers are humans. who
sometimes give birth to their pain. instead of children.

birth lessons, nayyirah waheed

I push and push and push until everyone leaves, then I blame them for going. It’s what I do.

sad little teenager - jpzg

You know, I think more and more often
that I should go back.
Maybe I’ll meet you. And happiness?
Happiness is being sad together.

Tadeusz Borowski

There will be kisses, and they will not always be good, they will not always be memorable. Your first, 8 years old, will taste like chocolate and soda pop. He will have a smudge of dirt on his nose, it will transfer to your cheek, your mother will wipe it off when you get home. You will not remember his name but it’s okay because you’ll remember that you played in the mud afterwards. He was your boyfriend for a single day. It was fine. You were more preoccupied with being the fastest runner.

Your second will look like a sticky summer afternoon, you are 14 years old and your entire body is a goose-bump, he does not know how to hold your face properly, you bump teeth and he says ‘sorry’ and you blush so hard that you feel faint. When he tries to kiss you again you both lean forward at the same time and leave forehead bruises on each other for an entire week. He mouths ‘sorry sorry’ every time he looks at you. Your hands shake when you write his name in your diary.

The third, fourth, fifth. You are 18 years old and they are drunken car crashes in the dark. Each ghosted breath against your mouth smells like beer and teenage desperation. They will put their hands on your body and you will try to wriggle your way into their skin. You wish one of them would ask you on a date. None of them do. In the morning they only know that you were beautiful and that your mouth tasted like ashes.

When you are 19 you will be kissed and you will not want it. There will be bruises on your jaw, and your upper arms. You will not be able to look at a man for months without shrinking inwards. He will not say sorry. He will not look at you after. Instead he’ll take his guilt home and feed it to himself. When his mother asks what is wrong, he won’t be able to meet her gaze.

It’s at 22 when you are kissed properly, when you are kissed into romance novels. There will be a man and he will cradle your jaw between his hands, he will cup your scalp and bend you backwards. You will cling desperately and you will eat at each others mouths like you were starving. He will only touch your face, but somehow your entire body is on fire. Even the air is flushing deeply. You will forget your name, he will forget his. The entire summer is pressing itself against the places where your bodies meet. It is tongue and teeth and lust. It is what your mouth was made for.

This is the kiss that you are looking for, do not accept any others. These are the ones you will remember when you are lying naked at night and the light wears you like a dress and the other side of the bed is empty. These are the kisses that touch you only on the lips and turn all of you into flames.

Azra.T “A Lesson in Teeth”

I’ve seen you, and I can’t look away.
There is a wildness in you…
I see your spirit,
and I believe it’s like mine.

Reign

So now the sadness comes — the revelation. There is a depression after an answer is given. It was almost fun not knowing. Yes, now we know. At least we know what we sought in the beginning. But there is still the question: why? And this question will go on and on until the final answer comes. Then the knowing is so full, there is no room for questions.

Log Lady, Twin Peaks

Anyone can grow into something beautiful.

Vanessa Diffenbaugh, The Language of Flowers
str-wrs