"There were two ways to be happy: improve your reality, or lower your expectations."

Jodi Picoult (via observando)

"Fifty yards away and you can still hear
someone’s world seem to twist in their shaky hands.
I didn’t realize how it sounded until after
you called the therapist. There’s a clinical term,
it feels more like the signs across your chest
read WELCOME TO, WELCOME TO,
never WELCOME HOME, never WELCOME
HOME. You tell me you don’t understand.
Divide. Separate. Consume. I am to the top,
shaking full of light. Swallow. Moonrock skull,
fingers like coffee filters, tongue swimming
with Tylenol, clear. I go weeks just letting the phone
ring, burying the bottles like translucent
orange explosives. Rise. Wash clean.
Stomach acid full of hornets, the finite of the body
above the resolve of concrete. Every word
sounds like a death threat. Open. Close. I pen out
letters to my insides but can’t speak
the language that hisses and spits. Boil. Simmer.
Burn. From far enough away, no one
can see the tremors in your throat. You ask me
how this feels. I could show you,
but the mind is a prism. It hurts invisibly.
Iron. Align. Refract. You do not understand
why my eyes well up on certain sidewalks, why
my skin crawls at my own name. Control.
Perform. Conclude. You ask me how to see
my kind of sick, but I cannot show you a suffering
that always runs clear."

PRISM by Julia Faulkner, Winter Tangerine Review, Volume Three  (via wildflowerveins)

Stop I can’t handle it

(via wildflowerveins)

Cheese & Crackers

Swore I was right, feared we were wrong;
in dreams, I see our days, now gone.
I hear your name in every song -
does this mean you’re moving on?

We met for brunch and for a slight
moment, we looked like summer nights
were still spent kissing, drinking light
and changing channels to lightning strikes.

But Jesus Christ, those days are gone
and after parting, the drive was long
and torturous; the tears spilled on
at the thought of moving on.

The worst thing is, I’m without a rhyme.
Sometimes I swear that I can’t write
for those blue eyes are kryptonite
and I take them in I did, alright.

(Source: your-better-than-that, via untamed-souls)

"Body is purified by water. Ego by tears. Intellect is purified by knowledge. And soul is purified with love."

Ali Ibn Abi Talib (via purplebuddhaproject)

(via words-and-coffee)

so-personal:

everything personal

so-personal:

everything personal

(Source: 0dollar975, via blackbruise)

(Source: fyspringfield.com, via blackbruise)

🙋

🙋

(Source: its-primadonna, via likeok)

"She did not flinch. “My past,” she told the room, “is littered with the bones of men who were foolish enough to think I was someone they could sleep on.”"

Michele Roberts, N.B.A. Union’s New Leader, Confronts Gender Barriers - NYTimes.com (via rachelfershleiser)

(via rachelfershleiser)

(Source: determinate, via eyesiveneverseen)

Bagels and Breakups

I sat across the table from him—the love of my former life, my Prince who fell from his faithful white steed—and I begged myself not to look into those dazzling blue eyes.

Not here, not now; don’t let them hypnotize you. Be strong.

I admired the stability of the screen walls in which we were encompassed as we ate brunch on his tab: so thin and weak to the eye, the screen stood proudly even with these million little holes punctured into it’s frame. How could anything so empty and incomplete withstand the wind, heat and rain?

He slid his fingers playfully over a napkin to flatten it to his liking. He chugged his chocolate milk and complained about work—the long hours, his lack of time for himself; all the negatives that shone positivity on the fact that he is now alone. What does he have better to do than slave away?

Hold me, I think, and work double shifts molding yourself into the man I cried over you failing to become.

I held my breath as we hugged goodbye; let him find the aroma of cigarettes that lingered in my curls. And I hope he didn’t see me wipe my eyes as our cars crossed paths for the last time on the drive to our separate homes.

With a million little holes punched into this hopeless frame, I am the screen. He comes in gusts and droplets, in memory and whispers of loss, and I somehow stand. I somehow survive.

"You called me your star, and for once in my life I felt special, I felt wanted. If only I knew that I’m just one out of a billion others in your galaxy."

just another star.  (via turnupthecity)

(Source: lohrde, via karmapower)

stormbornvalkyrie:

♕ ”I am not your little princess. I am Daenerys Stormborn of the blood of old Valyria and I will take what is mine, with fire and blood.”

stormbornvalkyrie:

 ”I am not your little princess. I am Daenerys Stormborn of the blood of old Valyria and I will take what is mine, with fire and blood.”

(via badskin)

"Consider me still in love
Consider me still — with you."

Vera Pavlova, from Consider Me Deaf And Dumb  (via budddha)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via budddha)

"It’s hard to remember what you fall in love with. Usually it is an expression in the eyes, an exchange, or a gesture or the sound of a voice, a word spoken. Those things can get blended with the atmosphere around you at the time — a fragrance in the air, a play of light, even music — so that they become almost one with each other and when you see or smell or hear the memories of a place you feel the love again, but as a pang of loss. Sometimes the feelings get connected so deeply to your body that even your own skin, your own eyes in the mirror remind you of what you no longer have. Sometimes it only takes a few things for someone to attach the way I did — enough hunger, enough loneliness, enough loss, someone who will feed you and touch you and listen. Sometimes attachment — call it love — is more complex than that. When you are in the state I was in, love can be tied up with other things, like excitement and danger, and the desire to know what really happened, what actually took place."

Francesca Lia Block, The Elementals (via budddha)

(Source: cursive-lines, via starmaps)