(Source: ch4in)

flowerette:

i quite like myself
slouched over a television with a broken remote,
pale skin alive with glowing colours  
at 3:33 in the morning

i think i am at my best
when i am hovered
over the kitchen sink just after dark
running hot water
over my raw fingers

i feel great
when i am sprawled across my bed
crying before i even wake up
sun pushing, unwanted,
through a dirty window

i am very happy with who i am
i say aloud in the car
all alone
while i consider driving into a tree

i am very happy with who i am 

velvetfetishhhh:

abrasiv3alyssa:

I can still find the light, I can still smile.

most beautiful thing i have ever read

wildflowerveins:

There are 248,752 cities in the world and you could be in any of them. You could speak German, Irish or the dialect of Spanish comfortable only in Ecuador. You could be fluent in the language of disappointment, in the vernacular of spilled orange juice on a tiled floor and the soft-edged glass in your father’s throat. 

I will not find you through maps; Atlas held the world on his shoulders and I refuse to do the same. I will never spin a globe and pick a city to search, because whenever I did as a child, I landed in the ocean and I have drowned too many times for it to be poetic anymore.

My mother loved a doctor after she loved me, and he loved her so much that he wanted to raise children only they created. My mother loved a doctor less than she loved me, and I think I might’ve been her soul mate instead. I think I will find pieces of you in every person I know; the tilt of her lips, the jut of his wrist, the lingering flare of my hips. You will be scattered, dispersed through every person alive, so that I love everyone  collectively as much as I will love you.

I hope that you fall in love with a girl with strong legs and a pierced tongue. I hope you fall in love with a girl that has already forked her way through life, found slender willows and hanged the ghosts that trailed her like flower girls at a wedding.

I can only tuck my ghosts into my closets and hope they find their homes in my grandmother’s dresses and my fourth grade essays on life. I can only ask my ghosts to give me Wednesdays and Saturdays off, and hope I receive paid vacation as well. I can only tell my ghosts to stop looking for you in every stranger I see, because disappointment and heartbreak might be the same thing.

(Source: damnafricawhathappened)