i hate absolutely everything yet everything has to love me

26 minutes ago with ♥ 47 notes

Here, where the walls don’t stop bleeding, is where they find your poetry. They don’t understand the flesh you have glued back to your bones. Some nights you wonder if it counts as falling in love if you only stumble into it. The city inside of your stomach tells you everything is on fire. You write about the smoke to get rid of it. When you try to scrub yourself clean, the soap only ends up in your eyes. It burns for days, like always. It is never an easy burden being able to see everything so clearly. When your worst nightmare asks if this is still about him, you say, ‘Baby, you aren’t even close to being in these pages anymore. If I had a chance to create another world, do you really think you’d be in it?’ When the monsters get lonely, you finally learn to stop holding their hands. You finally learn that yours were made for more than this.
- Y.Z, What we learned the hard way (via rustyvoices)
18 hours ago with ♥ 1,220 notesrustyvoices)

queue'd    literature    prose   
When our breasts arrived
as a kind of currency, we’d tug
our camisoles low, use
our newfangled bodies to haggle
with the ice cream man. The winner
was the girl who received her chocolate cone
for free, who sucked on candy cigarettes
the same way she wore a training bra.
That summer my pockets grew forests
of hand-tied maraschino cherry stems:
tampered evidence that I might one day be worthy
of kissing. In exchange for rides
on the handlebars of their bikes,
we’d let the boys bite
the beads off our candy
necklaces until the chokers
resembled punched out teeth.
From their slobber, blue and violet
stained my throat where the sweetness
had once been, so I suppose,
Your Honor, I was preparing
for him.

Megan Falley "Beginning in an Ice Cream Truck
and Ending in a Court Room”
(after Kim Addonizio)

19 hours ago with ♥ 703 notesdeeplystained)

queue'd    literature   


St Peter’s Basilica - Roma

20 hours ago with ♥ 3,450 notesclassicalbritain)

i was here    queue'd   
Go ahead, ask me.
Ask me why every night I light a vigil candle
at my door and its flame flickers delicately while I sleep,
silent like smoke, silent like the words we never spoke.
Ask me.
Ask me and I’ll tell you it’s because you said
you’d like to watch our shadows against the bedroom wall,
fleeting like winter, fleeting like you missed her,
fleeting like you almost kissed her but it’s still there.
I’m still here.
I never finished connecting your scars into scripture
but goddamn, would I like to.
That could be a god I could finally believe in.
Matthew Mark Luke and John couldn’t compare
to what I could do with a little bit of skin and a little bit of sin
and a little bit of fire burning patiently within
the walls of this room you left screaming your name,
like a little bit of pain and a little bit of nothing is the same.
Peeling yellow paint like purgatory,
go ahead, ask me.
Ask me why I still think your name sounds great in rhyme,
great like fever, great like don’t leave her,
great like leave her. What’d you put me through?
I’ll tell you, hell and back.

"Old Flame" by Yours, Darcy

Day Six: fire

(via writingistheremedy)

1 day ago with ♥ 204 noteswritingistheremedy)

queue'd    literature   
1 day ago with ♥ 131,598 notessonnenschatten)

every time you
tell your daughter
you yell at her
out of love
you teach her to confuse
anger with kindness
which seems like a good idea
till she grows up to
trust men who hurt her
cause they look so much
like you.
- to fathers with daughtersrupi kaur (via cavum)
1 day ago with ♥ 173,988 notesrupikaur)

queue'd    literature    poetry   

oh my actual god this looks amazing

2 days ago with ♥ 41,769 notesadorsed)



Attention all bi people - please take out your updated BIdentification cards immediately for inspection.

During this inspection, your sexual and dating histories will be thoroughly searched for prohibited interactions and graded on a scale of 0 to 6. All who score below a 6 will be immediately shunned from the Queer Community.

Those who do not meet our narrow and outdated specifications will be shunned.

Those without a gold star on their cards will be turned away from bars and clubs.

Those who insist on remaining visible or “existing” shall be shoved under a rock, or, as is the preferred method, into the nearest available walk-in closet to remind you where we think you belong, where we will constantly broadcast messages invalidating your experiences and identity.

(Oh, and those who pass shall have their BId’s shredded, and new, more appropriate id’s will be issued. You are not allowed to contest this or complain. Rejoice in your new legitimate, “full” identity, you are no longer a half-baked, trendy wannabe!)

2 days ago with ♥ 312 noteswordstomeawhisper)


I swear, I end up feeling empty, like you’ve taken something out of me, and I have to search
my body for the scars.
I know you want me to say it,
it’s in the script, you want me to say:

Lie down on the bed, you’re all I ever wanted and worth dying for too.

- Richard Siken, from Wishbone (via violentwavesofemotion)
2 days ago with ♥ 927 notesviolentwavesofemotion)