January 2010
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sometimes we look past the sweet smiles and generous words to find the shallow insecurities; we push all that makes us fear away. but i’ve decided that we must embrace our fears, and dig under the gravel to find the beautiful, undiscovered things that lie inside. this may result in a more than surprised being, and a bond which stitches together every aching heart and every lonely body....
14523.) I feel like I can't be happy with whoever...
jonsalta:
(via blogsecret)
“i would rather do nothing with you, then do eveything with someone else.” - <3
“I guess by now I should know enough about loss to realize that you never really...”
the definition of a decent person?
i just read a quote explaining how it’s hard for a decent person to stay mad at someone who has just burst into tears.
i guess i’m not decent.
you cried all you want, and everyone hugged you and patted your back, but when your red-as-a-tomato-face, twisted mouth, and watery eyes looked at me,
bitch you know,
i smiled and walked away.
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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
you're pretty darn different.
you probably will not even realize this is about you. you’re such a good person. through your mistakes, i take in the advice and i listen closer than you think. sometimes, i even get nervous talking to you. your blunt questions make my insides quiver in places they never have, and all at once i can feel myself becoming loose and not so strong. i can’t dance or skip around those...
“this doesn’t make my head hurt the way everything else does. i feel like the whole world could be flooding by me in quicker colors and flashes of florescent lights and you and i could be standing in the middle, standing still, with arcs of water up to our chins and our hands clasped together under the surface. but i’d still be able to inhale. i wouldn’t be drowning the way...
i like posting three pictures at a time.
nowhere is safe.
insensitive.
you are strange. you want to enter my mind. who could want that, but you?
your desperate tears and sobs over the debate of my it. the twisted longing, eyes rolling, smelling fabric, trying to make up for the missing piece tucked into my back pocket. the late-night texts, hands gripping, commanding actions, loosely scattered tears across your pillow, across my shirt, across your emotions, across...
the thing about cliches
“I. If this were a cliché, A poem, or both It would be about sparkling midnight skies and heartbeats and flowers and sex. There would be oceanic eyes and rain that tastes like tears. We’ll throw in anxiety-riddled murmurs and metaphorical bullets and allusions to sharp objects for pity. This is not a cliché anymore. So instead I wrote about the flavor of emerald and the fragrance of April...
