Sunday, April 20, 2014

dany + getting real tired of your shit

(Source: ldyiamartin)


This is how to run a stick of Chapstick
down the black boxes on your scantron
so the grading machine skips the wrong
answers. This is how to honor roll. Hell,
this is how to National Honor Society.
This is being voted “Most Likely to Marry
for Money” or “Talks the Most, Says the
Least” for senior superlatives. This is
stepping around the kids having panic
attacks in the hallway. This is being the
kid having a panic attack in the hallway.
This is making the A with purple moons
stamped under both eyes. We had to try.
This is telling the ACT supervisor you have
ADHD to get extra time. Today, the average
high school student has the same anxiety
levels as the average 1950’s psychiatric
patient. We know the Pythagorean theorem
by heart, but short-circuit when asked
“How are you?” We don’t know. We don’t
know. That wasn’t on the study guide.
We usually know the answer, but rarely
know ourselves.

HIGH SCHOOL By Blythe Baird (via blythebrooklyn)




Two months into our relationship you once asked me how much I loved you and I just said “From here”. You didn’t get it and you got mad and thought I was playing around.

Breaking up after almost two years together, I sent you a message 6 months later saying “To Here”.

You still didn’t get it.

I believe that a part of me will always wait for you but tonight, I am detaching that particular part of myself on the place where you left me and I would try to move forward with what is left of my being. I would just let that particular fragment of my soul wait for you as I enjoy the future that awaits for me.

And maybe if you come back, you will see that part of me. You can have it. It’s yours. But then you should know, you can never have all of me, again. Maybe you can chase me but I would be far away. I am not coming back to you. I would not run back to your arms. You should know that.
I think this time, I mean it. (N.A.)
Saturday, April 19, 2014
I don’t know what to say to you except that it tore the heart out of my body saying goodbye to you. Vita Sackville-West (via hellanne)
You’re under no obligation to be the same person you were five minutes ago. Grow every second (via lofticriess)

(Source: edgeandvoidfriction)

Friday, April 18, 2014
We only write about two feelings: one is the first day of summer when you and all of your friends are standing on the edge of a cliff watching the sun set and being overcome with all of your hopes and dreams at once and the other is when you’re walking alone in the rain and realize you will be alone forever. The Drums (via resolutionist)

(Source: anomalouswanderer)

I want to be your 1 a.m. fuck and your 1 p.m. lunch date. i.c. (via rattlejack)

(Source: delicatepoetry)

One day I woke up
and we no longer spoke
the same language.
I haven’t heard from you since.
Where did you go?, Hishaam Siddiqi (via aqwat)

(Source: pridefulvanity)

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via c-oquetry)

(Source: extrasad)

(Source: fluffynips)

We gotta start teaching our daughters to be somebodies instead of somebody’s. Kifah Shah   (via exoticwild)

(Source: ivicus)

She was laughing even as we kissed and kissed again. There is no better taste than someone else’s laughter in your mouth. (via fuckinq)

(Source: parachute3s)

Thursday, April 17, 2014
I want to wake up at 2am with a kiss from you, not a text message. (via b-alloon)

(Source: lezbianzdoitbetter)