As the days continue to roll by in silence from you, my fist is slowly relaxing it’s grip and my heart is breaking into smaller pieces. You are shattering me. I don’t think I can ever forgive you for this.
I wonder how long I can keep this up… this huge dam I’ve created to hold back this flood of tears and emotion. I’ve been stuffing it down for days now. Sometimes it leaks, but only when our song plays on the radio or when the sun shines at a perfect angle. And now I’m going to take some Nyquil and pass out, because laying awake by myself is very dangerous these days.
“We all have hearts
that wanna be old pickup trucks
in someone’s front yard.
I’m gonna keep fixing mine up
my love is gonna be sure as the sun
it’s never gonna run.”—(via theworldismadeofwords)
That moment when you actually have a minute to think about what you’re feeling and realize that you’ve been living in a fantasy land the past two weeks like a fuckin bimbo idiot with her head in the clouds with no firm facts to base her disillusionment on.
Get yourself together, girl. Stand on your own two feet. And know when to let it go, no matter how much it hurts you…
You are smarter than this. That life you imagined two weeks ago… it’s not yours.
It will never be yours.
“…and you drink a little too much and try a little too hard. And you go home to a cold bed and think, That was fine. And your life is a long line of fine.”—Flynn, Gillian. Gone Girl. (via creatingaquietmind)
I met my best friend the other day. And I fell further in love with him. And it is simultaneously the best and worst thing that has happened to me.
Because now my lips are addicted to what you taste like will be going though the most painful withdrawals till they meet yours again.
I love you. I love you. I love you. Fuck the rest.
“I believe in sexual freedom, I promote it, but me personally? I haven’t had sex in six, eight months, maybe longer. I think to have sex you should be in love… I’ll meet the love of my life when I meet the person who can see through every layer I have that’s meant to distract you and throw you off. I’ve been mistreated and abused my whole life, so I have these barriers up and I’m waiting to find the person who sees through that.”— Brooke Candy. (via papermagazine)
“The Buddhists say if you meet somebody and your heart pounds, your hands shake, your knees go weak, that’s not the one. When you meet your ‘soul mate’ you’ll feel calm. No anxiety, no agitation.”—(via spinals)
“If someone were to die at the age of 63 after a lifelong battle with MS or Sickle Cell, we’d all say they were a “fighter” or an “inspiration.” But when someone dies after a lifelong battle with severe mental illness and drug addiction, we say it was a tragedy and tell everyone “don’t be like him, please seek help.” That’s bullshit. Robin Williams sought help his entire life. He saw a psychiatrist. He quit drinking. He went to rehab. He did this for decades. That’s HOW he made it to 63. For some people, 63 is a fucking miracle. I know several people who didn’t make it past 23 and I’d do anything to have 40 more years with them.”—
“Because thats what people do—they leap and hope to God they can fly. Because otherwise we just drop like a rock, wondering the whole way down, “why in the hell did I jump?” But here I am, falling. And there’s only one person that makes me feel like I can fly…”—
If you grow up the type of woman men want to look at,
You can let them look at you.
But do not mistake eyes for hands,
Or windows for mirrors.
Let them see what a woman looks like.
They may not have ever seen one before.
If you grow up the type of woman men want to touch,
You can let them touch you.
Sometimes it is not you they are reaching for.
Sometimes it is a bottle, a door, a sandwich, a Pulitzer, another woman -
But their hands found you first.
Do not mistake yourself for a guardian, or a muse, or a promise, or a victim or a snack.
You are a woman -
Skin and bones, veins and nerves, hair and sweat
You are not made of metaphors,
Not apologies, not excuses.
If you grow up the type of woman men want to hold,
You can let them hold you.
All day they practice keeping their bodies upright.
Even after all this evolving it still feels unnatural,
Still strains the muscles, holds firm the arms and spine.
Only some men will want to learn what it feels like to curl themselves into a question mark around you,
Admit they don’t have the answers they thought they would by now.
Some men will want to hold you like the answer.
You are not the answer.
You are not the problem.
You are not the poem, or the punchline, or the riddle, or the joke.
Woman, if you grow up the type of woman men want to love,
You can let them love you.
Being loved is not the same thing as loving.
When you fall in love,
It is discovering the ocean after years of puddle jumping.
It is realising you have hands.
It is reaching for the tightrope after the crowds have all gone home.
Do not spend time wondering if you are the type of woman men will hurt.
If he leaves you with a car alarm heart.
You learn to sing along.
It is hard to stop loving the ocean,
Even after it’s left you gasping, salty.
So forgive yourself for the decisions you’ve made,
The ones you still call mistakes when you tuck them in at night,
And know this.
Know you are the type of woman who is searching for a place to call yours.
Let the statues crumble.
You have always been the place.
You are a woman who can build it yourself.
You are born to build.
“And if you’re in love, then you are the lucky one,
‘Cause most of us are bitter over someone.
Setting fire to our insides for fun,
To distract our hearts from ever missing them.
But I’m forever missing him.”—Daughter—Youth
“Fashion is one of the very few forms of expression in which women have more freedom than men. And I don’t think it’s an accident that it’s typically seen as shallow, trivial, and vain. It is the height of irony that women are valued for our looks, encouraged to make ourselves beautiful and ornamental… and are then derided as shallow and vain for doing so. And it’s a subtle but definite form of sexism to take one of the few forms of expression where women have more freedom, and treat it as a form of expression that’s inherently superficial and trivial. Like it or not, fashion and style are primarily a women’s art form. And I think it gets treated as trivial because women get treated as trivial. What’s more, there’s an interestingly sexist assumption that often gets made about female fashion — namely, that it’s primarily intended to get male attention and male approval.”—Fashion is a Feminist Issue: Greta Christina (via bossapplesaucesmelly)
“The brick walls are there for a reason. The brick walls are not there to keep us out. The brick walls are there to give us a chance to show how badly we want something. Because the brick walls are there to stop the people who don’t want it badly enough. They’re there to stop the other people.”—Randy Pausch, The Last Lecture (via quotethat)
u take a lot of selfies. do u think ur pretty or smoething? ur not
hi there, anon. i didn’t realize i took a lot of selfies. thanks for the info. so, your question was whether i think i’m pretty. you already answered that no, i am not.
and i have to agree, anon. i don’t think i’m pretty bc i’m not.
i always have a double chin.
i constantly look like i haven’t slept in a week bc of my dark circles
and, i always look sunburnt. idfk why
i have this white line across my nose that makeup can’t cover up
i have tons of wrinkles on my forehead. like what the hell? i’m 25
also, it’s the size of fucking texas
i still don’t know how to smile in pictures bc i hate my fucking teeth
my feet are flat. my hips are huge. my boobs are weird. i am covered in stretch marks. my voice is grating. my ears stick out two miles from my head. i am always fucking sweating and i’ve been asked if i was pregnant more times than i can count.
so, you’re right. i’m not pretty. i can’t stand the way i look.
which is why it’s so fucking important that i post “a lot” of selfies. bc, anon, you’d better fucking believe that if i look in the mirror that day and don’t cringe, i’m gonna take a fucking picture to save that tiny little second. and GOD FORBID i show the world that i posses a little self love every once in a fucking while.
TO ANYONE READING THIS: DON’T EVER LET SOMEONE MAKE YOU FEEL ASHAMED FOR LIKING THE WAY YOU LOOK—EVEN IF IT’S JUST FOR A SECOND. IF YOU LOOK NICE, YOU TAKE THAT FUCKING SELFIE AND YOU SHOW IT TO THE GOD DAMN WORLD BC THEY DESERVE TO SEE THE GOD/GODDESS YOU ARE!
that beard finally coming in? go ahead, bro. take a selfie.
you finally got that piercing you’ve been wanting? not really my style, but you’re fucking rocking it. take a selfie.
your boobs look awesome in that shirt? take a selfie.
you finally lose or gain that weight you’ve been working on? take a selfie.
your eyeliner look awesome? your new sunglasses make you look like a celebrity avoiding the paparazzi? you killing that tux? you feel a tiny, rare level of self love? you always on a high level of self love? you just like your face?
TAKE A MOTHAFUCKING SELFIE!
thanks for the question, anon. this one’s for you.