My sister told me a soul mate is not the person who makes you the happiest but the one who makes you feel the most, who conducts your heart to bang the loudest, who can drag you giggling with forgiveness from the cellar they locked you in. It has always been you.

» Sierra Demulder, Love, Forgive Me (via quotethat)  
reblogged 31 minutes ago @ 28 Jul 2014 with 90,693 notes via/source

The first man to name me “goddess”
was twenty-one and drunk on rum.
Breath heavy with lust and booze, he told me
that most nights he carved poems into the walls trying to write me alive in the room with him,
so when the light hit the scrapes just right,
he could catch his breath for a minute.
I was just fifteen, all ivory thighs and wild eyes,
but still he held my spine between his teeth and spun words off his tongue like thread—
they wrapped around me in a throat-crushing tangle,
but when my limbs began to struggle,
I convinced myself it was some sort of embrace.
One night he called me saying,
“Babygirl, you gotta open your window and stare out at that moon. Isn’t it beautiful, baby? Look at the sky holding up that massive thing all on its own. Damn, you’re just like that, you know?
You’re my sky.”
My frail bones were cracking under the weight of the rock he sickly called devotion—
instead of shattering, I let him become a solar eclipse
and never looked back at him again.

The second boy came to me on his knees at seventeen:
a past lover replaced with steel skin and iron irises.
I’ve never heard a voice as cold as his was, begging for my touch and dripping false sincerity off the edges of his lips.
He cried, “I didn’t know I needed you until you were gone. I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m just fucked up in the head.
Maybe you can soothe the ache in my soul if you kiss it just right with those words of yours.
You’ve always known just what to say.”
Each whisper echoed with a heavy blow that rung in my ears
and bruised my bones so deeply that I still feel them in the marrow.
As he spoke, I could feel those phantom-fingers that once fit so well between my thighs
beginning to curl around my ankles,
so I stepped on them.

The third man held nineteen years in his fists and
told me I wrote like words were poison,
as if I needed to pull them out of my gut as quickly as I could scratch them down, just so I wouldn’t choke.
Now I was sixteen and slinking around in ink-black stockings,
lips red and bloody from tearing the hearts of men out of their sleeves with my teeth.
He claimed I was wild like nothing he’d seen before.
“You’re wise for your age,” he declared. “You remind me of a Burroughs novel; I just can’t seem to understand you.”
I tried to unwrap my heart and serve it to him,
all raw and brutal,
but he returned it untouched, replying, “Stay quiet, now, darling, I don’t want to hear it just now. It’ll spoil it all, you see.”
To him I was a character, a fetishized fantasy,
and he’d cover his ears if I ever tried to speak
outside of a poem.

See, men only seem to stumble upon me in the dark,
as they grasp and fumble for something to swallow to convince their starving hearts
that they’re worth beating.
They hear my words as a siren call and drink me down in heavy doses.
Then, they crush me between their fingers and grind the dust into the ground with their heels so they can keep trudging along,
toting their tragedy behind them.
In their swollen eyes, I am only a poetic panacea.
But god, in the time that it’s taken for my rubble to reform into this shape they call a body,
I have grown thunderstorms in my skin and collected tornadoes under my tongue.
Yes, I’ve been told many times by those who try to solve me
that I exist only so that I may be destroyed
for the sake of others,
but instead, I have become a forest fire,
and I will burn myself alive to tear down
the thicket in my path until
I’m standing in the wake of my
destruction as merely
human.

» "I Am Not A Cure" by Abigail Staub (via guiseofgentlewords)  
reblogged 34 minutes ago @ 28 Jul 2014 with 858 notes via/source

whovian-in-221bs-impala:

colorguardenthusiast:

nicktoocooltoland:

bethmai:

congratulations on reading the book before it was made into a film

you win: nothing

congratulations on reading the book before it was made into a film

you win: spoilers

congratulations on reading a book before it was made into a film

you win: disappointment

congratulations on reading the book before it was made into a film

you win: a deep insight into the material that the movie barely scratches the surface of

reblogged 35 minutes ago @ 28 Jul 2014 with 466,111 notes via/source

claydols:

my eyes change colour depending on my swag levels. they are the darkest brown when my swag levels are at a maximum. i have never seen them change

reblogged 39 minutes ago @ 28 Jul 2014 with 170,223 notes via/source

I am that clumsy human, always loving, loving, loving. And loving. And never leaving.

» Frida Kahlo, The Diary Of Frida Kahlo: An Intimate Self-Portrait    (via onlinebabe)  
reblogged 42 minutes ago @ 28 Jul 2014 with 49,833 notes via/source
reblogged 1 day ago @ 27 Jul 2014 with 193,843 notes via/source

mymodernmet:

French artist Mademoiselle Maurice created this gorgeous map of the world with rainbow-colored drips of water. This piece, along with other artworks, will be on display at the artist’s solo exhibition Colors are the New Black until mid-July at the Backside Gallery in Marseille, France.

reblogged 1 day ago @ 27 Jul 2014 with 18,327 notes via/source

1. It won’t hurt forever. I know it feels like you’re dying slowly.. But you’re not.

2. He can’t break what he’s already shattered, but still, you’ve got to stop letting him touch you, he’s too careless to hold you. I keep telling you this.

3. Forget how he set your soul on fire after calling you his home. He’s reckless & yes, you knew this already but sometimes people call you their homes, when really they meant just a vacation house, you didn’t know he’d leave again, stop blaming yourself. He’s a coward & built to run.. Not love.

3. Your mother did not raise a Queen just for him to dethrone you. You belong to yourself. Never let another man believe he owns you.

4. You let him believe he owned you. Love is not about possession.

5. I know your forgiving heart feels like more of a curse than a blessing but trust that the right man will cherish it.

6. He is not the one, maybe he could’ve been, only Heaven knows. But If falling stars are the Angel’s flicking their cigarettes, there were millions. Maybe they didn’t want to see such an ending but here it is. Accept it.

7. Love doesn’t feel like all your bones breaking at once.

8. I know your heart feels like it could stop any minute now but it won’t, you’ve felt this before & you lived. Don’t ever allow him to make you feel like this again.

9. Fuck him. You tried. You gave it everything you had in you. It was more than enough, he just didn’t know what to do with it. He’ll never know what to do with it. You’ve got to stop letting him in.

10. You deserve your favorite flowers & someone who pours every color of the sunset in you. You deserve so much more than this.

11. You’re not dying, you’re growing.

12. Someone will love you like you loved him one day.

» 12 things I needed to hear after he broke my heart again. (via caramelcoatedxxxtacy)  
reblogged 1 day ago @ 27 Jul 2014 with 565 notes via/source