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Poetry ignites sparks in my brain,
that force me to feel every word,
feel every emotion that the author embedded,
deep into their calloused fingers,
onto this piece of paper,
and when they perform it out loud,
my entire body shakes from the power in those words,
words that create an entire story,
words that depict an image that I would’ve never seen before,
without the beauty of the poetry that is written in such a way,
that forces tears to come pouring from my eyes,
my eyelids feel water circling around them,
but they don’t stop them
they don’t stop them like a dam would,
they let them flow as if it broke.
Poetry creates a fire within my soul,
forcing every word to touch every part of me,
whether it’s my toes, or my head,
my entire body is infected with sound,
sound that I read when I inhale the sweet words with bitter meanings,
I am surrounded by words that make my heart implode,
within my thick skin, I suddenly become weak,
and I crumble under the emotion that the author intended to give me,
I become numb, I become a victim of the author’s thoughts,
they pierce through me,
disrupting my mind and leaving me breathless.
Becky Yeker (via awakeandempty)
Aug 17, 2014 / 8 notes
Aug 12, 2014 / 243,217 notes

let me introduce myself

fashionismywhore:

johnpatrick08:

1. the meaning behind my url
2. a picture of me
3. tattoos i have
4. last time i cried and why
5. piercings i have
6. favorite band
7. biggest turn off(s)
8. top 5 (insert subject)
9. tattoos i want
10. biggest turn on(s)
11. age
12. ideas of a perfect date
13. life goal(s)
14. piercings i want
15. relationship status
16. favorite movie
17. a fact about my life
18. phobia
19. middle name
20. anything you want to ask

Pick a number!

Yessss

(via thewingho)

Aug 12, 2014

On Suicide.

My life was never supposed to end up like this.

I suppose it’s an incredibly
Selfish thing to say, really.
Who’s life, after all,
Ends up exactly the way they planned it,
When they were small and hopeful?

I would hazard a guess-
Almost no one, or
If it did turn out exactly right
You realized, a year or two into it,
How exactly wrong it was.

The thing is,
After all the dreams of
Futures and love and dancing,
All I ever really wanted deep down
Was happiness.
I wanted to wake up in the morning
Happy.

I’m not, right now, am I?

I’m tired, so tired, of all this pain
That the world allows in,
The crack in my rose colored glasses
That I’ve been trying so hard to ignore.
I can’t, anymore,
And it’s nights like these when
That crack seems more like
The gaping end of the universe,
Than a crack.

We stare into the abyss and
It stares right back into us,
And laughs, and goes about its business
Because what are a few billion people to
An abyss?
Not much, I’m afraid,
Except for nuisances when we won’t stop
Bothering it with our wars and philosophy
And waxing eloquent in poetry
And dying for silly reasons

Like being sad.

I’m so sorry that people die,
For being sad.

Tonight- I understand it, but
I’m still sorry.
I’m so sorry for sadness, and
Pain.

And-
You know,
Every single person
Who has died from sadness
Knew something
That everyone else did not.
They knew the feeling of their own heart
Beating and fluttering behind their breastbone-
Only they knew that feeling,
What made it jump and sink and speed up and
Slow.
Everyone knows that this is normal heart behavior,
But only you can feel exactly the way
It feels, to you.
Only you.

And they knew what love felt like,
What it meant to see something beautiful and
Crave it, more and more.
Sometimes that drove them mad,
But at least they saw it,
At least they were able to.
Only they could know
The thoughts in their head,
The sound of their breath in the dark,
The feel of someone else’s hand
Touching their arm, saying
“I love you” through the fingertips,
Or at least “I care.”

I want to hold everyone in my arms
And never let them go.

My world sees darkness now,
Blind with things that hurt very deeply,
Things that cut like surgical instruments and
Leave deep scars behind.
I’m tired of being selfish and scared,
And sad,
And empty.

But tonight I am also reminded of light existing,
Of it burning in the galaxies for
Billions of years, constant and steady,
Waiting for our eyes to look up
And see.
I am looking, now. I am searching.

….

It gets better.

My heart is fluttering behind my breastbone
And I am alive.

Thank you
For that reminder,
In the loss.

It gets better. I love you. It gets better.

Please,
Don’t go so far away.


Vintage & Nature Blog
Aug 10, 2014 / 83,463 notes

I check my Facebook page 36 times a day for the sole purpose of making sure I have not accidentally posted a nude photo of myself

I reread an email 13 times before pressing send to ensure I have not written something in the email that could convict me of a crime

Before taking a stage when asked if I allow flash photography I always want to say “No” because I’m terrified flash photography will give me epilepsy

I know it doesn’t work like that, still

I never eat nuts on an airplane out of fear of that I will suddenly develop a nut allergy and if I have to asphyxiate I don’t want it to happen at 30,000 feet

Twice in the last two years I’ve been aborted from an airplane for running screaming down the aisles as the plane was taking off

I can’t walk through San Francisco without worrying my indigestion is the beginning of an earthquake
I brace for tsunamis beside lakes in Colorado
I’m not joking
The last time I saw Niagara Falls I couldn’t take it
It was too much much
I had to plug my ears to look at it and close my eyes to listen

Generally I can’t do all my senses at the same time they are too much much

Like if you touch me without warning, whoever you are, it will take everything I have to not hate you

Imagine your hands are electrical sockets and I am constantly aware that I am 70% water
it’s not that I’ve not tried to build a dam

Ask my therapist who pays her mortgage
My cost of living went up
at five years old when I told my mother I have to stop going to birthday parties because every time I hear a balloon pop I feel like I’m gonna get murdered in the heart

Last year a balloon popped on the stage where I was performing, I started crying in front of the whole crowd
plugged my ears and kept repeating the word “LOUD LOUD LOUD LOUD” it was super sexy

That’s what I do
I do super sexy

Like when I asked the super cute barista 11 times ‘are you sure this is decaffeinated? Are you sure this is decaffeinated? Are you sure that’- yes I drink decaffeinated and still jitter like a bug running from the bright bright bright

I have spent years of my life wearing a tight rubber band hidden beneath my hair so my brain could have a hug

These days when no one’s looking I wear a fuzzy fitted winter hat that buttons tight beneath the chin

I only ever wear a tie so that when I convince myself I’m choking my senses have something they are certain they can blame

As a kid I was so certain I would die the way of meteor falling on my head
I would go whole weeks without looking at the sky ‘cause I didn’t want to witness the coming of my own death

I started tapping the kitchen sink seven times to build a shield

My mother started making lists of everything I thought would kill me in hopes that if I saw my fears they would disappear
Bless her heart but the first time I saw that list I started filling a salad bowl with bleach and soaking my shoe laces overnight so in the morning when I ironed them they would be so bright I would be certain I had control over
how much dark could break into my light
how much jack hammer could break into my heart
My spine it has always been a lasso that could never catch my breath

I honestly can’t imagine how it would feel to walk into a room full of people and not feel the roof collapsing on my ‘NO NO NO I am not fine’

Fine is the suckiest word
it never tells the truth

And more than anything I have ever been afraid of I am terrified of lies
How they war the world
How they sound by our tongues
How they bone dry the marrow

How did we get through high school without being taught Dr. King spent two decades having panic attacks?
Avoided Windows
Jumped at thunder

I think we are all part flight the fight
part run for your life
Part ‘please please please like me’
Part Can’t breathe
Part scared to say you’re scared
Part say it anyway

You panic button collector
You clock of beautiful ticks
You run out the door if you need to
You flock to the front row of your own class
You feather everything until you know you can always, always shake like a leaf on my family tree and know you belong here

You belong here and everything you feel is okay
Everything you feel is okay

"Panic Button Collector" - Andrea Gibson

This is the best poem about anxiety that I have ever read.

(via thinkmewhole)

(via estallidos)

Aug 9, 2014 / 22,850 notes
I will love you forever’ swears the poet. I find this easy to swear too. ‘I will love you at 4:15 pm next Tuesday’ - Is that still as easy?.
W.H. Auden (via feellng)

(via sassilydelightful)

Aug 9, 2014 / 1,036 notes
slightlyignorant:

"Love this little cozy spot" by Kimono Loco
Aug 7, 2014 / 1,850 notes

slightlyignorant:

"Love this little cozy spot" by Kimono Loco

(via katarinagrace)

Books. People have no idea how beautiful books are. How they taste on your fingers. How bright everything is when you light it with words.
Rachel Kadish, Tolstoy Lied: A Love Story (via observando)

(via tea-diver)

Aug 7, 2014 / 3,728 notes

It’s Monday,
and your hair is messy.
You haphazardly put on your jeans and shirt
as you moan about the day of the week -
and I love you.

It’s Tuesday,
and you’re stumbling your way around the room,
trying to sort out the things you have to do.
You stop to briefly kiss the freckles on my nose,
asking me about my day -
and I love you.

It’s Wednesday,
and you’re quietly sprawled on the couch.
You pat the spot next to you and pepper kisses on my hair
because it’s my least favorite day of the week (and you know it) -
and I love you.

It’s Thursday,
and you’re wondering what the weekend will bring,
but you’re still moaning about how
the week is going by too slow for your tastes -
and I love you.

It’s Friday,
and I’m surrounded by DVDs and snacks
you’ve prepared when I was gone.
You welcome me with blankets and warmth from your arms -
and I love you.

It’s Saturday,
and you’re feeling lazy.
You won’t let me leave your arms
(or is it the other way around?)
So you tuck me under your chin as we both wonder
how much time we have left
before sleep makes us miss each other’s faces -
and I love you.

It’s Sunday,
and there’s nothing much to say but
I love you.

Aug 7, 2014 / 121,064 notes

If you’re a teen you must follow this blog.
Jul 17, 2014 / 980 notes