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nobody can save you but
yourself.
you will be put again and again
into nearly impossible
situations.
they will attempt again and again
through subterfuge, guise and
force
to make you submit, quit and/or die quietly
inside.

nobody can save you but
yourself
and it will be easy enough to fail
so very easily
but don’t, don’t, don’t.
just watch them.
listen to them.
do you want to be like that?
a faceless, mindless, heartless
being?
do you want to experience
death before death?

nobody can save you but
yourself
and you’re worth saving.
it’s a war not easily won
but if anything is worth winning then
this is it.

think about it.
think about saving your self.

Charles Bukowski, “Nobody But You” (via larmoyante)
Home is in my hair, my lips, my arms, my thighs, my feet and my hands. I am my own home. And when I wake up crying in the morning, thinking of how lonely I am, I pinch my skin, tug at my hair, remind myself that I am alive. Remind myself to step outside and greet the morning. Remind myself that it’s all about forward motion. It’s all about change. It’s all about that elusive state.
Freedom.
Diriye Osman, Fairytales for Lost Children (via shittyteenblog)
I began to realize how important it was to be an enthusiast in life. If you are interested in something, no matter what it is, go at it full speed ahead. Embrace it with both arms, hug it, love it and above all become passionate about it. Lukewarm is no good. Hot is no good, either. White hot and passionate is the only thing to be.
Roald Dahl (via larmoyante)
Anything you want in love you should have. If you want someone to send you flowers just because it’s Tuesday, you should have that. If you want someone to write you love letters, you should have that. If you want someone who looks at you like the sun rises and sets because of you, you should have that. In life, we often have to settle for “okay” or “good enough”, love should not be one of those things.
c.h.dixon (via kushandwizdom)
I will be your
7 AM sleepy kisses
8 AM French toast
9 AM rushed goodbyes
10 AM love calls
11 AM daydreams
12 PM lunch notes
1 PM new email
2 PM coffee break texts
3 PM reminiscent thoughts
4 PM longing
5 PM drained love
6 PM post-work hugs
7 PM dinner companion
8 PM wine bottle
9 PM tango
10 PM readying for bed
11 PM bedtime stories
12 PM Midnight Sonata
1 AM confessions
2 AM heavy snores
3 AM morning sex
4 AM driftless sleep
5 AM frenzied fantasies
6 AM rapturous sleep
I will be your
Clock.
Grace C., Timepiece (via frankie-wolf)

(Source: praistiel)

I.

The first time your heart was torn from your chest,
You thought you were dying.
You knew you could not live with the empty space.
So you replaced your heart with metaphors
And set out to create a world where the metaphor was unbreakable.

Now look what you’ve done—
You can’t breathe so you write.
You can’t hurt so you drink rum and pour our pirate chanties.
You can’t want revenge so you leave.

II.

When I see you I have two thoughts:
You are the reason The Smith’s wrote songs,
And my god, you are beautiful.

You are so beautiful
Blinking stars go blind.

But I can see this is going to get ugly.
The metaphors don’t make you feel whole anymore.
You sell out your deepest insecurities for a handful of laughs.
This life has you wound so tight you make grandfather clocks look relaxed.
You hold your body like banks hold money—all locked up.
Your shoulders are glass rocks waiting for the next attack.

But you’ve got it all wrong.

You don’t survive history.
History survives you.

There is no breakthrough without breakdown.

III.

If you’re going to break, shatter.
No explanations.
No limp-legged dog excuses.
No messing with this bullet proof vest fury
So popular with the cops and the presidents.

You’ve got to break like Texas.
You’ve got to take the pain from the safety valve of your heart
And return it to your fists.
Fight your better judgment ‘till you’re sinister again,
‘till your body remembers what it already knows how to do—
bend back
and manifest grief.
Scream torches ‘till you embarrass the enlightened.

Please. No more polite conversations with your death wish.
Give it something useful to do.
Change your life.

Cause I can’t stand to see you like this.
So blue, my eyes turn green in your presence.
Listen—you are so beautiful,
Grass pushes through sidewalk cracks just to kiss your feet.

IV.

Maybe no one ever told you,
But the heart IS a metaphor.
Yours is growing so strong
You’ll have your rhythm back any day now—

Loving like rumours spread.
Dreaming like lunatic spacemen jump from their suits.
Living like you never forgot how.

Mindy Nettifee, “The First Time” (via kushandwizdom)
To Tumblr, Love Pixel Union