" I fell for you the way a train
wrecks itself,
the way a wave crashes into the shore.
It looks like fear
and it feels like recklessness.
So maybe we’ll destroy each other,
ruin and break each other
but God,
what a way to go.
by Tina TranThis is for you 

(via photosynthesizings)

" The only thing I know is this: I am full of wounds and still standing on my feet. "
by  Nikos Kazantzakis 

(via dishevelment)


do you remember the first time you were called annoying?
how your breath stopped short in your chest
the way the light drained from your eyes, though you knew your cheeks were ablaze
the way your throat tightened as you tried to form an argument that got lost on your tongue.
your eyes never left the floor that day.
you were 13.

you’re 20 now, and i still see the light fade from your eyes when you talk about your interests for “too long,”
apologies littering every other sentence,
words trailing off a cliff you haven’t jumped from in 7 years.
i could listen to you forever, though i know speaking for more than 3 uninterrupted minutes makes you anxious.
all i want you to know is that you deserve to be heard
for 3 minutes
for 10 minutes
for 2 hours

there will be people who cannot handle your grace, your beauty, your wisdom, your heart;
mostly because they can’t handle their own.

but you will never be
and have never been
“too much.”

" I wanted the whole world or nothing. "
by Charles Bukowski, Post Office 

(via leukocytes)

" Promise me
you will not spend
so much time
treading water
and trying to
keep your
head above
the waves
that you forget,
truly forget,
how much you have always
to swim.
by Tyler Knott Gregson 

(via mmonsters)

" I felt like crying but nothing came out. it was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can’t feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. but I think I have known it pretty often, too often. "

You remember too much,

my mother said to me recently.

Why hold onto all that?

And I said,

Where do I put it down?

by Anne Carson, from “The Glass Essay” 

(via cavum)

" This is an apology letter to the both of us for how long it took me to let things go. "
by Buddy Wakefield, Hurling Crowbirds at Mockingbars 

(via 9047)

" According to their survey, men hate when women wear beanies, floppy hats, hair bows, open-side shirts, oversize sweaters, shoulder pads, peplums, bandeau bikinis (“they just make your shoulders look like a linebacker”), bright lipstick, heavy eye makeup, fake nails, bangles, pointy-toed shoes, wedge sneakers, ultra-high heels, fold-over ankle boots (“it looks like the shoes have foreskins”), high-waisted jeans, high-waisted shorts, high-waisted skirts (“it lacks a certain degree of subtlety”), pantsuits (“you’re a woman, not a man”), drop-crotch pants (“really, any loose fitting pants,) and mullet dresses (“I just don’t get it — where’s the fucking party??? You are covering the back!”). The question is how to wear all of these things at once. "

You want to talk about my poems but those are not words
I have to give you. I am busy still living in the city where we
fell in love. I’ve papered the walls of my bedroom with maps
of the places that leave your name on my tongue. This is not
the best way to forget you but it’s better than drinking alone.

This black line snakes across the river from my apartment to
your dirty kitchen. I miss the way your breath felt on my neck.
I can’t say I miss you without flinching

The blue dots are the bar stools where we drank whiskey as
I apologized for being a world-class bitch. The green star is
the diner where we got coffee the first morning we woke up
together. I want a tattoo of the first morning we woke up to-
gether. I want the memory to hurt.

There is a burn mark at the center of the Hawthorne Bridge
and you know why. We don’t need to talk about it. I am so
sorry. I am the wrong kind of strong.

I am mad at you because these days being mad at you is as
close as I get to kissing your forehead. It keeps raining but
nothing looks cleaner. Everything in Portland is a postcard
saying “Wish You Were Here!” So many of the books in my
bedroom used to be your books.