Where ideas kiss similes so deeply metaphors get jealous.

Grey’s Anatomy (via connotativewords)

(via cocaineshorty)

You’re still my person, even if I’m not yours.

Just a mess

I know I’ve been different lately
but this is not an apology.
I don’t know how to apologize
for chasing after me
because this is a serious game of hide and seek,
where nothing is ever olly olly oxen free.
And I’ve been making eggshells into brick walls;
I’m so sorry I get jealous.
It’s just sometimes I feel like
I’m the only one who knows your favorite color or things like,
you’re only ticklish under your armpits
So I’m not fucking sorry for wanting to shed a tear when you kiss me on the forehead…
because I know she’s felt the same warmth inside.
I resent
or maybe envy
how you can set so many people on fire but not get burned.
-especially when I’ll only know what it’s like to be a coal.
I’m drunk and laying here
thinking of just how much better it would have been
if I would have never made you scared,
but what could I do
when I was afraid of myself?
You were the only one that could run away, and
I call it a cop out because
you robbed me of my heart.
I can’t believe you even had such a quick getaway.
Now I’m still wrestling in a ring
that deserved a tap out
before you kicked me when I was down.
And I know you’re taking your time out
but its arms keep throwing punches to my chest.

John Eldridge  (via awelltraveledwoman)

(Source: purplebuddhaproject, via dayzea)

Let people feel the weight of who you are and let them deal with it.

Ten Word Poem #6  (via coyotegold)

(Source: poemsbysmm, via crocodilianheart)

Perhaps we’ll meet again when we’re better for each other.

Drinking through this hollow heartbreak with twist tops
You’ve got me bottled up,
cork skrewing with my head, but
I’d rather be empty than easy so
I’ll just take another shot
And string this glass bottle
from a tree,
to wait for the fall
in hopes that for once
you won’t leave…but
The seasons keep coming
and you’re changing more than the weather.
Now it’s late July
and I’m still seeing June bugs,
but at least they understand what it feels like to hang around too.
Suspended here,
strung along on a temporary forever,
my own personal noose,
I hate I was so breakable to you.

All the Want in the World Cannot Fit in Our Hands (via blackbruise)

(Source: typewriterdaily, via spooniecat)

There’s that word again. Need. I need you. I need you to need me. How nauseating, to need another human being, as if their heart is in your throat. Love isn’t about need. Don’t romanticize the notion of desperation. Let me let you in on a secret: you don’t need me and I don’t need you. We can get through life just fine without each other. Love is not wanting to. We want each other, we want skin and hands and all our daily scars. We want intoxication and art museums and intertwined limbs. We want ferocity in our lips and tracing slow, small circles on our stomachs. I don’t need you in my life, but goddamn I want you in it.


one of my favourite moments is when i’m sitting on a toilet completely drunk and i just smile and nod at myself in silence

(via dannydevitosdaughter)