lvunching

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if only I had not spent so much time pretending I was an adult when I was really a child- too young to realise that shoving my problems to the side is not a sign of maturity, but an indication I have not been raised right you shouldn’t have fed me those sugared lies that I was a grown woman when I was a child, your sick fantasies should not override the need to preserve a young mind. –an excerpt from ‘the edge of growing up’ (cchloepierce on wattpad)

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Just as they stop, they start again.

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“I let you into my secret garden, i opened the heavy gates. you ruined my garden. you stepped on my flowers, you plucked the plants from the ground, you left them hanging on the floor lifeless.”

— Rom

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Maybe I go to write ‘and’ every time I lift up my pen, because each piece is not a new story, but simply a continuation of all which forms me

@humcreates (via inkstay)

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“I am so full of

used to’s that rivers of dust

spew from every pore.”

-EL

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Breaths interrupted by a stream.

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I lied and said I was busy; but not in a way most people understand. I was busy taking deeper breaths. I was busy silencing irrational thoughts. I was busy calming a racing heart. I was busy telling myself I am OK. Sometimes, this is my busy - and I will not apologize for it.

(via neuroticdream)

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I didn’t grow up in a house

where my height was

sketched into the molding.

Instead, I grew up in a house

where his screams were etched

into my skin;

her cries forever engraved

into my brain &

instead of makeup staining 

my pillowcases

there were just

my tears…

[lvunching]

Too often when people ask “how are you doing?” Our instincts tell us to say “im good and you?” As we fight back the tears and the brokenness that we feel just to make sure no one else has to worry that we arent okay.

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You don’t understand why I can’t deal with when you raise your voice at me, or even at anyone else.

You don’t understand that play-arguing and debating is not fun for me and it’s not funny.

You don’t understand that while I may seem “laid back” and “easy going” it’s just because I try to not give my opinion on anything as to keep the peace.

When anyone argues, even if it’s a petty little argument over something as small as who is sitting shotgun, it makes me so uncomfortable.

It sucks that in order to avoid conflict I come across as boring because I act as though I have no opinion.

It sucks that I have to cover up any anger or animosity I feel towards people because I can’t stand to be in an argument or dispute with someone.

It sucks because I have been left with the ingrained belief that when someone is mad or upset, it’s means that they’re going to leave you.

I’m left with the core belief that it is easy for people to leave. That whenever something goes wrong, people just drop it and move on. There’s nothing important enough in the world to tie anyone to me. I’m so easy to leave. I’m so easy to just throw away.

So I do everything I can to not be put out with the trash. I do everything I can to give people a reason to keep me around.

[lvunching]

Don’t you dare call me your sunshine because I know that she is your moon. Everyday I shine for you but everynight the sun sets and she covers up every bit of brightness I once was. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t return my texts or call me back , maybe that’s why I wake up everyday giving you all I have, only to get nothing in return. The clouds cover me up on my bad days so you don’t have to see me at that time, but I asked the clouds to, I never asked for the moon. You still need your sunshine, you still need the light. Because without me your world is dark. You’ll soon realize that the moon you were focused on was actually me behind someone you just wanted me to be. Stuck in the shadows of never good enough, then pushed to the side to be recognized in the morning. That’s not what I want anymore. I didn’t want to have some of your attention. I wanted you when the birds chirped and when the wind sang songs with me at night. But you couldn’t see me. You always needed more from me. Couldn’t you see I was doing my best?Now one day you’ll see the moons face and wake up realizing it’s not even close to the sun you once you fell in love even when the clouds covered it up. That day, the sun won’t rise and your world will be dark.

Goodnight moon (via ccontemporary)

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I used to think I was tough, but then I realized I wasn’t. I was fragile and I wore thick fucking armor. And I hurt people so they couldn’t hurt me. And I thought that was what being tough was, but it isn’t.

James Frey (via vollenden)

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If you can’t stop thinking about it, don’t stop working for it

Michael Jordan (via studyblr)

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After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, Please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she Did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, Sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used— She stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late, Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and Would ride next to her—Southwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and Found out of course they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering Questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag— And was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers— Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands— Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing, With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, This is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped —has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.

Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be.  (via oliviacirce)

When I lose hope in the world, I remember this poem.

(via bookoisseur)

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Give me the love that is two cups of coffee gone cold because we decided to make love on the kitchen floor.

Drew Hairgrove (via andnobodyknowsmyname)

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And then one day the people we loved forgot to love us back.

@endlessunicornsauce (via endlessunicornsauce)

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You told me I am your sun and I am the reason as to why your days are so filled with light and joy. You then spoke about how you were scared of the dark, the unknown and the ghosts of your past. I nodded and listened carefully, avoiding telling you anything that would scare you off or make me mean less to you. I never wanted to tell you, but I am not the sun. I am the moon that glisten on your cheeks even though you fear the night that consumes me so much. I hide in the darkness and find comfort in not knowing where  I am going or who I am with or what will happen next. I’m scared the face I’ve painted on has cast you under a spell of infatuation. I’m not a fortune teller even though my heart is as fragile as a crystal ball and you see your future in my eyes, but I feel as though I will be another ghost of your past one day. I will be lined up and shoved in the closet next to all the lovers you’ve lost. It is inevitable that I will become a ghost to you and I don’t know how to stop it. Whether one day it’s you telling me to leave and I take it to the heart or it’s the day I will let the dark consume me and you’ll be scared of the figure that stands in front of you as someone you once knew. I am not the girl you will be with ten years down the road, but the girl instead you will find yourself thinking about ten years from now and wondering where I am, what I am doing, and you’ll only have memories to remember the sound of my voice.

“I’m very sad today and it’s consuming me and I want to down a bottle of liquor until I forget about everything.”

-t.m 

(via leobinch)