You roll over next to me in the night and whisper

You tell me I am a communist

That I owe you more than you owe me

That I am the one polluting the planet, making the air smoggy and the people groggy

That my first word was masochist

My body is a leach inhaling everyone else’s sadness until it becomes mine

You tell me I wear makeup to cover up the gashes I’ve made in my skin so that people like you only see my faux features when we first meet and that underneath it all it is ugly and dismantled, cracked like the core of the earth, pale as the bark of the birch trees

It’s apparent now that my presence is poisonous, scarring, and when others ask why you’ve lost weight, why the happiness has been sucked from your eyes, all you will have to do is say my name

And they’ll know I’m the syringe that’s extracted all the good from your veins

But really, all I have been trying to do is love you

To become so close that I can taste your breath in the winter air

All I have been trying to do is make you love me


house of the neutral by Mrite

You are all unfixable

You are all ugly, disgusting

You are all unintelligent

You are all failures

You all have scars that wont fade and when someone is kissing you and sees them, yes, they will be revolted

You all have sat alone for days on end because no one wants to be with you

You all have cried no matter how old or your gender or whether it was justifiable or not

You all have lied and tasted the regret as it stained your teeth

You all have hurt others, verbally, physically, stabbing with words, punching with fists

You all have chased dreams so big they could swallow you whole, and you all have never achieved them

You all have screwed the wrong person, or groped in the dark hoping maybe that certain somebody would be on the other side of the bed instead of a stranger

You all have broken bones, become disheveled, become improvised and felt ashamed

You all have stepped on worms on the sidewalk, not caring that you ended a life

You all have thrown garbage into the streets, and you all have been that garbage

But all these things are so incomparable to your beauty…Keep reminding yourself

Tattoo #3- fabulously adorable #ferdinandthebull ❤️🐂


In reading Anna Karenina I was reminded of my own letters, except mine aren’t from a dashing Count Vronsky, but they’re similar. So I went into my basement and searched through the mountain of totes until I found the one labeled “Casey stuff”. It was buried under Christmas wreathes and old school papers, behind the grandfather clock that doesn’t work. It smelled musty from all the old flowers I had saved, and I threw them in the garbage can because the soft pedals had been totally consumed by mold. But there they were, at least 50, maybe more, sitting in a tote, smelling gross, stained, looking very sad, if inanimate objects could convey emotions, that is. I can remember when they held so much though, overflowing with meaning, bursting with love, the lines on the paper were seams and they were stretched from the many memories inside.

            Reading them made me feel dirty, and unpleasant, as if the love expressed was a sin, something I felt ashamed of. I pondered how those boys and I ever got that far, how I ever let our feelings become so engorged. The letters were bloated with lies, flaccidity. But I know that when those words were written, they seemed so true and immaculate. That phrases like “I love you” and “you’re so beautiful” among others were pure then, and felt within the deep caverns of their bodies. The poems about our future lives together, and the sentimental moments shared were not sickening to them as they would be now. There was no malignity or contemptuousness in their feelings and words, but genuineness, like a shining 24 carat diamond lodged in their hearts.  And suddenly, the dirt began to fade, and the nauseous feeling in my gut subsided. Because these letters are beautiful, they are me, and my past, and who I am presently. They are snippets of people I have loved and polaroids of moments where I was happy. Yes, love and happiness disintegrate, and are often replaced with malice and distain, but those captured clouds of bliss so perfectly crystallized in letters should never lose their charm, should forever be cherished. For I was lucky enough to be found enchanting and graceful, shrewd and artful-beautiful; because being loved is a gift not to be taken for granted. 


2 drawings of cows
Neal and I failing at prom pics 2k14💎💗🐏

#prom #love #tapir

I will not be ‘famous,’ ‘great.’ I will go on adventuring, changing, opening my mind and my eyes, refusing to be stamped and stereotyped. The thing is to free one’s self: to let it find its dimensions, not be impeded.

Virginia Woolf, from A Writer’s Diary (via violentwavesofemotion)

(Source: shakespearewasaunicorn)