The first man to name me “goddess”
was twenty-one and drunk on rum.
Breath heavy with lust and booze, he told me
that most nights he carved poems into the walls trying to write me alive in the room with him,
so when the light hit the scrapes just right,
he could catch his breath for a minute.
I was just fifteen, all ivory thighs and wild eyes,
but still he held my spine between his teeth and spun words off his tongue like thread—
they wrapped around me in a throat-crushing tangle,
but when my limbs began to struggle,
I convinced myself it was some sort of embrace.
One night he called me saying,
“Babygirl, you gotta open your window and stare out at that moon. Isn’t it beautiful, baby? Look at the sky holding up that massive thing all on its own. Damn, you’re just like that, you know?
You’re my sky.”
My frail bones were cracking under the weight of the rock he sickly called devotion—
instead of shattering, I let him become a solar eclipse
and never looked back at him again.

The second boy came to me on his knees at seventeen:
a past lover replaced with steel skin and iron irises.
I’ve never heard a voice as cold as his was, begging for my touch and dripping false sincerity off the edges of his lips.
He cried, “I didn’t know I needed you until you were gone. I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m just fucked up in the head.
Maybe you can soothe the ache in my soul if you kiss it just right with those words of yours.
You’ve always known just what to say.”
Each whisper echoed with a heavy blow that rung in my ears
and bruised my bones so deeply that I still feel them in the marrow.
As he spoke, I could feel those phantom-fingers that once fit so well between my thighs
beginning to curl around my ankles,
so I stepped on them.

The third man held nineteen years in his fists and
told me I wrote like words were poison,
as if I needed to pull them out of my gut as quickly as I could scratch them down, just so I wouldn’t choke.
Now I was sixteen and slinking around in ink-black stockings,
lips red and bloody from tearing the hearts of men out of their sleeves with my teeth.
He claimed I was wild like nothing he’d seen before.
“You’re wise for your age,” he declared. “You remind me of a Burroughs novel; I just can’t seem to understand you.”
I tried to unwrap my heart and serve it to him,
all raw and brutal,
but he returned it untouched, replying, “Stay quiet, now, darling, I don’t want to hear it just now. It’ll spoil it all, you see.”
To him I was a character, a fetishized fantasy,
and he’d cover his ears if I ever tried to speak
outside of a poem.

See, men only seem to stumble upon me in the dark,
as they grasp and fumble for something to swallow to convince their starving hearts
that they’re worth beating.
They hear my words as a siren call and drink me down in heavy doses.
Then, they crush me between their fingers and grind the dust into the ground with their heels so they can keep trudging along,
toting their tragedy behind them.
In their swollen eyes, I am only a poetic panacea.
But god, in the time that it’s taken for my rubble to reform into this shape they call a body,
I have grown thunderstorms in my skin and collected tornadoes under my tongue.
Yes, I’ve been told many times by those who try to solve me
that I exist only so that I may be destroyed
for the sake of others,
but instead, I have become a forest fire,
and I will burn myself alive to tear down
the thicket in my path until
I’m standing in the wake of my
destruction as merely
human.

"I Am Not A Cure" by Abigail Staub (via guiseofgentlewords)

hey…peep this poem I wrote this morning….

(via guiseofgentlewords)

(via i-write-sins-not-trenzalore)


Car Radio (Acoustic)
twenty one pilots
Vessel

fahayleyure:

Favorite acoustics  twenty one pilots - Car Radio

"I’m forced to deal with what I feel,

there is no distraction to mask what is real”  (x)

(via i-write-sins-not-trenzalore)


effiestrinkets:

“Finnick!” Something between a shriek and a cry of joy. A lovely if somewhat bedraggled young woman—dark tangled hair, sea green eyes—runs toward us in nothing but a sheet. “Finnick!” And suddenly, it’s as if there’s no one in the world but these two, crashing through space to reach each other. They collide, enfold, lose their balance, and slam against a wall, where they stay. Clinging into one being. Indivisible. 
A pang of jealousy hits me. Not for either Finnick or Annie but for their certainty. No one seeing them could doubt their love.

(via bisexualraoul)


I laughed because it hurt too much to cry.
Anonymous (via little-dubu)

(via tangl3d-emotions)


We assume others show love the same way we do — and if they don’t, we worry it’s not there.

(via paulwes)

Everyone has their own love language. That’s one of the most important lessons I’ve ever learned.

(via pleasedontcallmelhead)

(via tangl3d-emotions)


unsoaring:

don’t fall for the one who buys you flowers, fall for the one who wants to grow a garden with you 

(via keyzkid)


If it was meant to last, it would have.

Red (Orange Is The New Black)

Best words of advice ever said

(via soyandco)

(via keyzkid)


(via kingsleyyy)



680xsouth:

basically i dont care if you drink smoke or do drugs as long as you can hold a conversation about something besides the fact that you drink smoke or do drugs

(via i-write-sins-not-trenzalore)


pink-vulva:

reasons i want to look GOOD 

  • for myself
  • for myself
  • to plant the seed of envy in other bitch’s hearts
  • for myself

(via lovelifehappyness)


cumfort:

what if disney channel had a throwback week and all the old shows and movies were on it

image

(via lovelifehappyness)


astrologymarina:


This is not a photograph of lovers, this is a 400 year old marble statue of Pluto and Proserpina

bernini is my favorite artist

astrologymarina:

This is not a photograph of lovers, this is a 400 year old marble statue of Pluto and Proserpina

bernini is my favorite artist

(via keyzkid)


deducingneville:

whereforeartthouwolves:

hogwartskidsproblems:

That sound? It’s the sound of my heart breaking into a million pieces

I… I just noticed that both Harry and Neville are dressed similarly to their fathers during the battle of Hogwarts.

I just

I

my heart

ow

Very sneaky costume department

Very

Sneaky.

(via i-write-sins-not-trenzalore)


grilledcheese4evr:

petalpunx:

stay away from people who make you feel like you are hard to love

This is the most important thing I have ever read.

(via i-write-sins-not-trenzalore)