I see parts of you in every bit of me;
I want to rip every ounce of you into pieces
but I can’t seem to cut you out without hurting myself.

You are in my bones, my skin, my thoughts and
the way I feel about you hasn’t changed but
I think I have.

I miss the part of me that you took with you.
I am tired of looking at my own reflection and only seeing the bits of me I once wanted so earnestly to call yours.

I could still be yours.

I can’t get rid of you. I’m not sure if I’m ready (want) to.

(Source: the-sad-boy)

What did I think about before you touched my thigh? Let me say this: I’m going to touch you until my fingers fall off. If my fingers don’t fall off, I will hold your hand even if it’s sweaty. And let me say this: You are lovelier than clouds that look like lovely things. I have only loved a few times and the last time was when you rubbed my neck under the monkey bars. We weren’t much younger than we are now. I still have the same haircut. You still have only one dimple. It’s on your left cheek and it looks like you fell on a pebble. I love that it looks like you fell on a pebble. Let me say this: You taste like candy canes. There was a candy cane tree in my old neighborhood. My neighbor hung candy canes on the branches of the willow and I snatched them in the middle of the night. It was December when I rode my bike the quickest, like I was going somewhere to meet you. I like you more than the candy cane tree. Let me say this: I am uncomfortable in my own skin, so I hold your face. I hold your face and your hips but mostly your face. You have a lovely face. Let me say this: I love you like monsters like scaring little kids. I make a list of words I can use to diagram your body: petite, mellifluous, comely, milk, necessary. Please, forgive the humming; you see I rarely taste candy canes in March. When I don’t taste you I taste sweat. Not good sweat, mind you, sweaty sweat from the men’s locker room. Sometimes I taste pizza, but that’s only because I loved pizza first. Let me say this: My love for pizza was fleeting. I was young and naive and thought that extra toppings meant something. These are fine days because they end with you. Let me just say this: I’m going to kiss you until my lips fall off. If my lips don’t fall off, I will kiss up your spine until I run out of spine. Then I’ll start over.

“Notes on a Candy Cane Tree,” Gregory Sherl (via easybakec0ven)

This is cute

(via exha1e)

Mt Rainier, Washington.

(Source: viage)

stoicmike:

The boss complains, but does he offer to swap jobs? — Michael Lipsey

stoicmike:

The boss complains, but does he offer to swap jobs? — Michael Lipsey

(Source: jaegerzs)

death

death

The first person who saw your face was delighted by you. Isn’t that something? You managed to bring joy only by breathing.
Your mother will occasionally peek through the cracks of your door when you are sleeping, even now, to make sure that she can see the movements of your chest.
The boy who kissed you in the park last night isn’t in love with you, he won’t even stay, but he meant every second of those minutes.
You’ll walk a city street that your feet have never touched before and you’ll be terrified of getting lost and that feeling is what’ll help you find the way home.
You’ll give your money to a homeless man and he will hold your hand firmly between his and he will say ‘thank you so, so much’ and isn’t that something?
There’s a piece of music that makes your heart feel like it’s bleeding. Listen to it. Listen to it again.
When was the last time you paused to stare at night time?
Did you know that there is at least one person in your life who will jump in front of a hail of bullets for you, without your asking.
Your entire body is made of nerves. Feel things.
Take walks in places you’ve never been.
Take photographs of people not everyone considers beautiful. Find loveliness in them.
Let go of the things that are killing you from the inside out.
One day you’re going to be part of the sky, you’re going to be that beautiful and that necessary but not today. Not today.

Azra (5000letters)

(Source: thirlie)

(Source: clovuhrs)

I do all the things you used to hate. I dye my hair colors that make the church ladies stare. I go to bed without dinner and subside entirely on air. I make tea and pour cream in after. I give up reading. I give up The Beatles. I never eat another plate of scrambled eggs. I shape myself into someone you would dislike. My speech sharpens. My teeth turn to fangs. I let go of the softness that drew you to me. My fingernails itch to become claws and I don’t fight it. This is what it takes to survive. I let people into my bed that I would have walked right past with you. He is sad-eyed and needs my flimsy paper wrists to support him. I pour every late night with you into him, until he says, ‘I love you, I love you’ and I say, ‘Shh, you’ll ruin the fun.’ I do what it takes to forget you, and at the end, have more bruises than the ones I started with, but I can finally look at a sunset and not feel anything at all.

I Practice Death To Forget You | Lora Mathis  (via soggypoetry)

(Source: still--g0ing)

allmymetaphors:

allmymetaphors:

Day 47/365
This is as genuine and real as it gets right now

I THOUGHT THIS WAS TOO PERSONAL FOR ANYONE TO LIKE BUT THAT IS APPARENTLY NOT THE CASE 

allmymetaphors:

allmymetaphors:

Day 47/365

This is as genuine and real as it gets right now

I THOUGHT THIS WAS TOO PERSONAL FOR ANYONE TO LIKE BUT THAT IS APPARENTLY NOT THE CASE 

I can’t stop thinking about the first time our lips touched.
God, I was scared as hell. I had an angel laying beside me and I didn’t want to ruin the moment, that perfection that was lighting up the room around me. I’m certain you left a mark on me, this light you buried deep in my chest to keep me going even when the darkness was complete. You made me feel whole in a way I didn’t know I could, you filled the cracks where I didn’t know I was broken. Your hands mended my insides. I was a ghost, a wanderer, but now the only place my soul wants to be is beside you. I experienced homelessness on a December night but on a freezing January morning, you made a home in my chest. My rib cage became four walls to hold a heart that beats only to the sound of your voice.

Everyone is looking for something or someone to make a home out of.

I think I found mine.

A.J.B (via graphiterainbow)

(Source: failturd)