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Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna
letmecuminyoubabe
Source: daintyfeels

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wordsnquotes
I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with.
Tell me why you loved them,
then tell me why they loved you.
Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through.
Tell me what the word home means to you
and tell me in a way that I’ll know your mother’s name
just by the way you describe your bedroom
when you were eight.
See, I want to know the first time you felt the weight of hate,
and if that day still trembles beneath your bones.
Do you prefer to play in puddles of rain
or bounce in the bellies of snow?
And if you were to build a snowman,
would you rip two branches from a tree to build your snowman arms
or would leave your snowman armless
for the sake of being harmless to the tree?
And if you would,
would you notice how that tree weeps for you
because your snowman has no arms to hug you
every time you kiss him on the cheek?
Do you kiss your friends on the cheek?
Do you sleep beside them when they’re sad
even if it makes your lover mad?
Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion
or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain?
See, I wanna know what you think of your first name,
and if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mother’s joy
when she spoke it for the very first time.
I want you to tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind.
Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel.
Tell me, knowing I often picture Gandhi at ten years old
beating up little boys at school.
If you were walking by a chemical plant
where smokestacks were filling the sky with dark black clouds
would you holler “Poison! Poison! Poison!” really loud
or would you whisper
“That cloud looks like a fish,
and that cloud looks like a fairy!”
Do you believe that Mary was really a virgin?
Do you believe that Moses really parted the sea?
And if you don’t believe in miracles, tell me —
how would you explain the miracle of my life to me?
See, I wanna know if you believe in any god
or if you believe in many gods
or better yet
what gods believe in you.
And for all the times that you’ve knelt before the temple of yourself,
have the prayers you asked come true?
And if they didn’t, did you feel denied?
And if you felt denied,
denied by who?
I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror
on a day you’re feeling good.
I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror
on a day you’re feeling bad.
I wanna know the first person who taught you your beauty
could ever be reflected on a lousy piece of glass.
If you ever reach enlightenment
will you remember how to laugh?
Have you ever been a song?
Would you think less of me
if I told you I’ve lived my entire life a little off-key?
And I’m not nearly as smart as my poetry
I just plagiarize the thoughts of the people around me
who have learned the wisdom of silence.
Do you believe that concrete perpetuates violence?
And if you do —
I want you to tell me of a meadow
where my skateboard will soar.
See, I wanna know more than what you do for a living.
I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving,
and if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes.
I wanna know if you bleed sometimes
from other people’s wounds,
and if you dream sometimes
that this life is just a balloon —
that if you wanted to, you could pop,
but you never would
‘cause you’d never want it to stop.
If a tree fell in the forest
and you were the only one there to hear —
if its fall to the ground didn’t make a sound,
would you panic in fear that you didn’t exist,
or would you bask in the bliss of your nothingness?
And lastly, let me ask you this:
If you and I went for a walk
and the entire walk, we didn’t talk —
do you think eventually, we’d… kiss?
No, wait.
That’s asking too much —
after all,
this is only our first date.
Andrea Gibson (via wordsnquotes)
Source: thelovejournals.com
broken-from-memories
And there was nothing poetic about wanting to kill myself and writing so many suicide notes in my head explaining how sorry I was for the things I did not become. There was nothing poetic and beautiful about crying myself to sleep every night for the past 5 years hoping someone would care enough to save me. No one saved me. No one was going to save me because there is nothing poetic about thinking you can’t be saved. There is nothing poetic about staring at a blank wall for an entire day or smiling and laughing the next and having people think “oh she’s fine.” There was nothing poetic and beautiful about trying to take my own life. There is nothing poetic and beautiful about my mother having a panic attack every time I have a bad day and lock my door. There is nothing poetic and beautiful about me not taking my pills because I don’t know who I am without this sadness. There is nothing poetic and beautiful about having depression and wishing you were dead. There was nothing poetic and beautiful about my depression or anyone else’s depression nor will there ever be anything beautiful and poetic about it.
Fuck anyone that says it’s beautiful//Deeply Feeling Series (via promisesofamazing)
Source: promisesofamazing
depressedblogxsuicide
Losing you wasn’t just painful, it was fucking damaging also. It wasn’t me sitting down on a couch surrounded by my friends as we watched movies and ate food to try and forget you. It was me staying up at four in the morning because the thought of you was so fucking strong I couldn’t even close my eyes without seeing your face. It was me swallowing thickly and blinking back tears every time I was in public, the hole in my chest causing my breaths to come out shaky rather than normal. It was me laughing at things for no reason as my stomach turned because the urge of falling apart was getting stronger. It was me crying at random hours during the day and me not wanting to get up out of bed. It wasn’t just me staring blankly at your number, deciding wether or not if I should call you. It was me throwing my phone at the wall and breaking it, because I was drunk again and the thought of you ever changing your information terrified me. It was me deleting our conversations and regretting it because now I couldn’t know where we had went wrong. It fucking hurt, losing you had hurt and I wasn’t ever able to forget that kind of pain.
A.M.// getting over someone is horrible  (via knick-licht-bitch)
Source: tullipsink
depressedblogxsuicide
When you get angry at me for ignoring your calls because I am buried so far behind the bathroom walls, please - love me anyway. When you get mad because I keep misinterpreting your words, because I have a habit of thinking the worst, please - love me anyway. When I am clutching at my own skin like it’s an enemy; when I am hiccuping so violently I can’t speak; when I look at you like you’re a stranger and I can’t breathe; please please please love me anyway.
S.Z. // Anyway (via vollenden)
Source: blossomfully
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