"This morning I woke up and decided to tell the truth.
I am not okay, and I don’t think that any of us are,
and I don’t think that we need to apologize for it.
Friends call to make plans and I say yes,
instantly regretting it. If it’s not alcohol,
it’s getting high, it’s music so loud my bones hum.
It’s driving around and making promises with our pinkies
or throwing up on the side of the street or kissing
each other so violently that we’re swallowing hair,
wisdom teeth. It’s loneliness so deep in my stomach
it’s in my womb and kneecaps. I’m writing this because
I fucking want you to feel something. I want you to
sweat me out like a fever. Okay, okay, listen:
I want to be a new girl but it’s these old habits.
We’re all so warm and feeling and I can’t quite
get this taste out of my mouth. We fling love around
like we don’t expect to get it back. It feels like
only yesterday my mother was kissing my scrapes
and bruises. Only yesterday I was learning to tie my shoes,
snap my fingers, be trusted with the delicate task
of dressing myself. I don’t think it’s safe here anymore.
Empty out your chest and get ready to run."
"Chloe was born with her eyes open
which means she can see through your bullshit.
Chloe, you don’t have to hunch your shoulders
in like that. She leaves her mouth all over town
and always tips too much. Fishing pennies
out of her sheer stockings, getting high
off the fumes from the city bus. Chloe,
don’t think that you’re doing anyone any favors.
This will end in tragedy but your boyfriend
will still drive you home and kiss your forehead
while all of those numbers from strangers
weigh heavy where you stuffed them into
your push-up bra. Chloe, you scare me when
you say you are nothing except your body.
Sometimes she just wants to throw herself down
the stairs or brew all the coffee in her cabinets.
Chloe wakes up feeling like she’s been kissed
by the bartender and as proof, she picks
a cherry stem from her back molars. Rinses
her mouth with grenadine."
When I was trying to quit smoking
and we drank white wine from Mason jars,
you called my freckles cocoa powder
and I called your green eyes
I am learning how to be a grown-up
who pays bills, cooks her own meals,
and doesn’t cry at words like
I think I just want to be friends.
The truth is this:
Love is an organic thing.
It rots and softens.
Clementine von Radics, All That’s Left To Tell (via exoticwild)
I hope when you peel citrus fruit
that it all comes out in one piece.
I hope that you have nothing to do today
so that you can stay in the shower
because sometimes that’s the warmest
and safest place to be.
I hope you let the sidewalk kiss
the bottoms of your bare
blistered feet after you’ve walked
far too long in uncomfortable shoes.
I hope the lights are all green on your drive home.
I hope the cashier looks at you like you’re beautiful.
I hope you have an appetite tonight and I hope
you have good things to eat.
I hope the walk to your car smells like trees.
I hope you haven’t forgotten how lovely you are.
We all have different definitions of a good day.
I hope you get some stuff done
even when you couldn’t leave your bed last week.
I hope you went outside even though
you didn’t want to see anyone.
I hope you at least have a day
where nothing bad happens.
I hope you have a day when you give yourself a break
because you need to remember that you’re human.
I hope you do something that makes you feel good about yourself.
I hope you do something for you and only you.
I hope you remember it’s not selfish.
I hope you remember it’s okay to eat.
Most of all, I hope you don’t die
because you are so many people’s reasons
to stay alive.
4:20 p.m. (You deserve the best, I hope you get it)
"I have no advice for anybody; except to, you know, be awake enough to see where you are at any given time, and how that is beautiful, and has poetry inside. Even places you hate."
Jeff Buckley (via indicio)