How can your body replicate the feeling of falling from high altitudes in a nightmare if you’ve never fallen like that before?
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Dear Future Daughter:
1) When you’re at some party, chain smoking on the roof with some strange girl with blue hair and exorbitant large dark eyes, ask her about her day. I promise you, you won’t regret it. Often times you’ll find the strangest of people have the most captivating of stories to tell.
2) Please, never mistake desire for love. Love will engulf your soul, whilst desire will emerge as acid, slowly making it’s way through your veins, gradually burning you from the inside out.
3) No one is going to fucking save you, anything you’ve read or heard otherwise is bullshit.
4) One day a boy is going to come along who’s touch feels like fire and who’s words taste like vanilla, when he leaves you, you will want to die. If you know anything at all, know that it is only temporary.
5) Your mental health comes before school baby, always. If its midnight, and you have an exam the next day but your hands have been shaking for the past hour and a half and you’re not so sure you want to be alive anymore, pull out that carton of Ben and Jerry’s and afterwards, go the fuck to bed. So what if you get a 68% on the exam the next day? You took care of yourself and at the end of the day that will always come before a high test score. To hell with anyone who tells you differently.
At some point you will move on. You will remember the good times and might miss them. But you will be able to look through eyes of peace and continue with your life.
I’ve got to tell you
how I love you always
I think of it on grey
mornings with deathin my mouth the tea
is never hot enough
then and the cigarette
dry the maroon robechills me I need you
and look out the window
at the noiseless snowAt night on the dock
the buses glow like
clouds and I am lonely
thinking of flutesI miss you always
when I go to the beach
the sand is wet with
tears that seem minealthough I never weep
and hold you in my
heart with a very real
humor you’d be proud ofthe parking lot is
crowded and I stand
rattling my keys the car
is empty as a bicyclewhat are you doing now
where did you eat your
lunch and were there
lots of anchovies itis difficult to think
of you without me in
the sentence you depress
me when you are aloneLast night the stars
were numerous and today
snow is their calling
card I’ll not be cordialthere is nothing that
distracts me music is
only a crossword puzzle
do you know how it iswhen you are the only
passenger if there is a
place further from me
I beg you do not go
life goals:
independence
intelligence
financial stability
cute face
cute butt
a little scary
“You smell of honey, of desire,”
— Remy de Gourmont, tr. by Jethro Bithell, from “Hair,” c. June 1858
(via violentwavesofemotion)
I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates, or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. Not because he was perfect, or because you were, but because your combined flaws were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together.
The man in ecstasy and the man drowning—both throw up their arms.
1. I’m 17 and I’m in a state of perpetual state of heartbreak
and my lungs are black from cigarette smoke2. I’m 17 and I’m paralyzed at the thought of having a future
and my iron wrists have bleed rust for the past 4 years3. I’m 17 and I’m an insomniac whose eyes are bruised black and blue
and my heart aches with every waking moment4. I’m 17 and I’m full to the brim with shards of shattered dreams
and my words often get stuck in my throat choking me5. I’m 17 and I’m acting as if I don’t need anyone but I need you
and my escape is into the pages of love sick poetry6. I’m 17 and I’m longing to be buried at the roots of an elm tree
and my bones are bruised from beatings I give myself after every mistake7. I’m 17 and I’m learning about life still so be kind
and my soul still has some searching to do
