intr0vertedsoul
There will be days when you can’t bear it anymore. There will be hours when you can’t talk past the lump in your throat, the weight on your heart. There will be nights of shattering dreams and shuddering pain.
Take a breath. Take another.
This ache is temporary.
Dreams are remade, hope can be replenished.
Take a breath. Wipe your cheeks and get rid of those itchy tears. Lift your shoulders and reorganise the weight of your burden. Shift it, don’t fight it.
Ignore the hiccuping that follows a sob. Ignore the pain pounding behind your shining eyes. Focus.
Pick yourself up.
Take a breath, make some coffee and wipe your cheeks.
This pain is temporary, and you can get through this. I promise.
Breathe.
Breathe (for those who need to hear this)
lora-mathis

I’m still crawling out of my skin and, after two years,
I still try to scrub him off in the shower and I still try to swallow and digest his whispers.

It took me a week to go back to class and listen to his smug chuckle next to me,
and listen to his stories of the girls’ virginities that he held.
And I wondered how many more of them were taken, not given.

It took me ten minutes to use a pass to go cry in the bathroom
and two months to leave school completely.

He didn’t have to hold a blade to my neck and I knew he would never hit me.
He didn’t have to
because he had twelve counts of willingness against one night of “no’s”.
He placed the words into my mouth and I can still hear myself saying:
“I know you didn’t rape me.”

I tried to drive away, but I found his sweater in the street;
a sweater he had told me was his grandpa’s.
And all I saw was myself lying there next to it, forming a pile of his nostalgic treasures that he had discarded that night.
A pile of things he used to love until he was done using them.

I wrapped myself up in his grandpa’s old sweater,
hoping that it would bring me the warmth that it had
when he had given it to me as we walked down Sunset Boulevard in December,
and hoping that it would bring me the comfort that it had
on the night that I had two beers too many
and he wrapped me in it before taking me home.
But the red and blue wool was now woven with stones from the asphalt
and it only made me shiver more furiously.

He would never come back for this tired old sweater;
A sweater now covered in mildew from the rain that night
And rough from asphalt still stuck between the buttons.

Shivers by Robi Foli 

I’m putting all of my poems and pictures (and whatever else comes along) here now

(via stre55ed)

spilledinkthoughts
Let me tell you what I do know: I am more than one thing, and not all of those things are good. The truth is complicated. It’s two-toned, multi-vocal, bittersweet. I used to think that if I dug deep enough to discover something sad and ugly, I’d know it was something true. Now I’m trying to dig deeper. I didn’t want to write these pages until there were no hard feelings, no sharp ones. I do not have that luxury. I am sad and angry and I want everyone to be alive again. I want more landmarks, less landmines. I want to be grateful but I’m having a hard time with it.
Richard Silken (via aplethoraofquotations)
1hey
1hey:

it hurt when I stumbled across her. 
she was like broken glass all along the floor. 
but it was beautiful and my curiosity got the best of me. 
I remember looking at her and all I could see was pain. 
she had this insane look of desperation; you could almost feel it.
and yet her eyes were still hollow; like the life had been sucked out of her. 
I wanted to pick up her pieces. 
I wanted to put her back together.
and so I tried. I really did.
I got a little cut along the way. 
the more I tried to fix her the more fragile I became myself but I didn’t care. 
I wanted to see her happy. 
every time I made her laugh I thought about how I wanted to make her laugh forever. 
she was getting better. 
eventually she was put together enough to get up and walk away. 
but she didn’t take me with her. 
and I’ve been stuck sitting here where I first found her.
wondering if the pieces left on the floor are hers or mine.
I should probably get the fuck up.

1hey:

it hurt when I stumbled across her.
she was like broken glass all along the floor.
but it was beautiful and my curiosity got the best of me.
I remember looking at her and all I could see was pain.
she had this insane look of desperation; you could almost feel it.
and yet her eyes were still hollow; like the life had been sucked out of her.
I wanted to pick up her pieces.
I wanted to put her back together.
and so I tried. I really did.
I got a little cut along the way.
the more I tried to fix her the more fragile I became myself but I didn’t care.
I wanted to see her happy.
every time I made her laugh I thought about how I wanted to make her laugh forever.
she was getting better.
eventually she was put together enough to get up and walk away.
but she didn’t take me with her.
and I’ve been stuck sitting here where I first found her.
wondering if the pieces left on the floor are hers or mine.
I should probably get the fuck up.

lion--hearted
yungmanic:

I think it’s absolutely crazy how feelings can flicker so quickly, deteriorate so easily. One minute my ears are filled with the sound of your soothing voice complementing my every thought, mistake and action- then the next you plaster me with doubt, mentally suffocating me with criticism. I don’t know which is the truth and which is the lie, or what hurts more; the compliments or the suffocation. Weird isn’t it. I am not sad because your feelings changed, or that you lack understanding. No. I am sad that you are letting go of someone who was willing to change themselves into a better person. Change for you. All the care and feeling I have towards you is being thrown away. You let go of that, you let go of me. And you will never find that again. Another girl? Sure, but not the feelings I had. No matter how hard you search. Never. Giving you a chance and showing the slightest bit of affection was an ocean of effort. Appreciate me. Patience is all we needed, all you needed. But waiting seemed like a forever maze; an inescapable facade, an emotional trap. I can’t keep living in the past, the only time that’s real is now, the only time that exists is now. Our touch, our laughter, forever hugs, feelings, kisses and every depressing word I just wrote no longer exists. It’s in the past. Dead.

yungmanic:

I think it’s absolutely crazy how feelings can flicker so quickly, deteriorate so easily. One minute my ears are filled with the sound of your soothing voice complementing my every thought, mistake and action- then the next you plaster me with doubt, mentally suffocating me with criticism. I don’t know which is the truth and which is the lie, or what hurts more; the compliments or the suffocation. Weird isn’t it. I am not sad because your feelings changed, or that you lack understanding. No. I am sad that you are letting go of someone who was willing to change themselves into a better person. Change for you. All the care and feeling I have towards you is being thrown away. You let go of that, you let go of me. And you will never find that again. Another girl? Sure, but not the feelings I had. No matter how hard you search. Never. Giving you a chance and showing the slightest bit of affection was an ocean of effort. Appreciate me. Patience is all we needed, all you needed. But waiting seemed like a forever maze; an inescapable facade, an emotional trap. I can’t keep living in the past, the only time that’s real is now, the only time that exists is now. Our touch, our laughter, forever hugs, feelings, kisses and every depressing word I just wrote no longer exists. It’s in the past. Dead.

lion--hearted
I think you still love me, but we can’t escape the fact that I’m not enough for you. I knew this was going to happen. So I’m not blaming you for falling in love with another woman. I’m not angry, either. I should be, but I’m not. I just feel pain. A lot of pain. I thought I could imagine how much this would hurt, but I was wrong.
Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun (via observando)