personal posts

Language is what honors the vanishing.

Or is language what slows the leaving?

Or does it only deepen what we know of loss?

Inside us, constellations,

bit thread knotted into night’s black drape.

There are no right words,

if by right we mean perfect,

if by perfect we mean able to save us.

-From "The Failure of Language" by Jacqueline Berger

Yesterday, I knew how it would end.
Between sips of milk and knotted thumbs,
I thought of it loudly, all day. Today, I can’t seem
to remember much.

Yesterday, I knew that it would smell of
grass and charred wood and
sound like a hose left running
a few houses down.

Yesterday, I knew that when it ended,
the waterfalls would rush backwards
and the clouds would huddle in a corner of the sky
and my sister would nod to herself in the mirror,
blink twice, and love herself.

Yesterday, I knew how it would end
and that just before it did, the world would blush
and quiver. The soil would chuckle
and ask for water and chuckle again
and as the petals bowed, the lights would dim.

Yesterday, I knew how it would end but today,
I know only that it will, only that you will be there
and you will whisper ‘I love you, baby,
I love you enough to watch you go’.

Signs | Ramna Safeer (via inkywings)

(via rustyvoices)

3:40 pm  618 notes

“We note our place with bookmarkers
That measure what we’ve lost.”

— Paul Simon (via observando)

8:20 am  360 notes

I am Ophelia. She who the river could not hold. […] I set fire to my prison. I throw my clothes into the fire. I dig the clock which was my heart out of my breast. I go onto the street, clothed in my blood.”

— Heiner Müller, Hamletmachine  (via a-quiet-old-soul)

(Source: 16ruedelaverrerie, via a-quiet-old-soul)

3:40 pm  3,353 notes

8:20 am  32,135 notes

3:40 pm  17,524 notes

sometimes I kiss people I shouldn’t kiss and let them unbutton my jeans sometimes I leave English class without asking and walk in angular circles until I can hear the blood rushing under my skin sometimes I run until I can’t breathe sometimes I sit in the rain sometimes I sleep for six hours in the middle of the day

sometimes I drive too fast and listen to my music so loud that it hurts sometimes I drink until everything goes black and I don’t remember talking about you all night (even though I do)

sometimes I cry about books and about people who died hundreds of years ago sometimes I don’t cry even though I want to more than anything sometimes I ignore the people I love sometimes I hold myself to keep everything in because you are not here to do it

sometimes I think I’m alive sometimes I think I probably never will be

— (via epiphxny)
This speaks to me way too much (via speak-sweetly)

(Source: porn4smartgirls, via halfsmiling)

8:20 am  149,143 notes



Never EVER let your friends walk alone at night. Boys or girls, it doesn’t matter. There’s some scary people in this world that are willing to addict, defile, and kill anything with a heart beat. Please be careful

1:07 am  11 notes

Police Sources: Hannah Graham's Body Found

Confirmed that Hannah Graham’s body has been found by local news.  Heartbreak.

6:09 pm  1 note

3:40 pm  35,520 notes


we keep still. adolescent gods
of skin and splendor and dewy oak
counting the worlds we will conquer
once our wings grow. and softly
you say that eternity is somewhere here
in the moonlight and air, that it could be ours
if i would just lean in close and take it.

- the dust dances too

8:20 am  247 notes

“Peel yourself up off the bathroom floor
and stop feeling so fucking sorry for yourself.
It’s not like it’s Valentine’s Day and you have
no one to love. It’s been months and you’re still
waiting for someone to kiss you but this is not
the worst that you’ve been through. You always
said you were going to do better so start doing
what you want. Wear more red. Cut your hair
like a boy’s or grow it out so long you need
a procession to follow you around and carry it
behind you like a wedding veil. In this body
you sit and sit and wonder who’s going to ring
the doorbell next. You can’t make anyone love you.
In the kitchen your mother mixes salt and sugar
and flour together and you could mess this up
but she’ll still kiss you on the forehead and say things
like proud and responsible and trustworthy
to the neighbors. Let her. Some days the sadness
will be so heavy you won’t be able to feel your hands.
So much happens inside of you that it can be hard
to separate cell division from your paper tissue heart
and you may never remember this feeling again,
but you are the home that you’ve built for yourself.
I know you’re afraid of losing those you love
but don’t you know we have all night.”

Kristina Haynes, “How to Survive” (via fleurishes)

(via fleurishes)

3:40 pm  2,675 notes

“I might think I can’t take it any more, that I can’t go on any more, but one way or another I get past that.”

— Haruki Murakami, After Dark (via larmoyante)

8:20 am  12,811 notes

“I am having these odd dreams where I cut out my heart
and nail it to the door as a warning. Maybe because
he did not mean his kisses. Or because the price of milk
is rising and mothers cannot afford to feed their children.
Or maybe it is because I walk behind couples
who are clearly not couples anymore. Their swinging hands.
How tender their want is, like a cut that is half-healed.
I haggle over pennies with the cab driver and kiss
strange boys with big hands. I do not like going to the
laundromat and had to wear my little black dress to a dentist
appointment last week. I sit on the bus and try to find
a love poem in everything. Maybe this is hope.”

Kristina Haynes, “A Reminder Not to Bother You at Work” (via fleurishes)

(via fleurishes)

3:40 pm  1,056 notes


I am writing poetry that isn’t really poetry.
It is honesty and wishful thinking with sentence breaks.
This is the only way I know how to communicate.

My mouth is letting breaths pass through
the shapes of my tongue, the curve of my mouth
without actually speaking.

My skin blends into the curtains.

On windy days,
I am a ghost
and I have no shadow.

I am existing without actually living,
looking without seeing,
hearing without listening,
touching without loving.

— 7:06 p.m. (via expresswithsilence)

(Source: angryasianfeminist, via angryasianfeminist)

8:20 am  278 notes

Whenever I’m giving advice to myself, I always say the same thing:
Start where it hurts. Start where it started hurting, and then go from there.

So, high school. When I start growing and never stop. When I hear the phrase ‘fat girl’ and immediately know that it isn’t a good thing. When I don’t kiss anyone and no one kisses me. When I know how to keep a crush a secret better than anyone. When I’m so lonely I can’t even feel it, until someone points it out and I realize I’m bleeding.

It hurts when I stop taking ‘you’re pretty for a fat girl’ as a compliment.

It’s like waking up and seeing that everything is on fire. That it always has been. It’s like suddenly realizing that you’re living in a burning house that you can’t leave. It hurts everywhere, and all the time. It hurts like a bad back. It hurts like when my sisters call me turtle because of the way I try to make myself smaller in crowds, and yeah, it gets easier, but no one ever joins the party. No one ever teaches you how to stand up straight.

Caitlyn Siehl, excerpt from Start Where it Hurts (via alonesomes)

3:40 pm  445 notes