November 3rd, 2013

sophiealdred:

astoldbygengar:

lets just be clear, if you spend the time baking a cake/cookies/brownies, you can eat as many of them as you want and the calories don’t count. you made those calories. you’re their god.

disclaimer: this does not apply to children you have made

(via perforating)

(Source: fim-damaskino, via perforating)

September 1st, 2013

aquietjoy:

Okay, I know I reblogged this before… pretty sure? Because it’s one of those things, one of those things Noelle does which touches me deeply. I need a book, I need a Noelle book of Noelle things like this. The ones which make me melt. I love Noelle, I have for a very long time…

How can you really love a woman, if you’ve never seen her laugh? Not a small, pretty scoff. Not an adorable little giggle. I mean the true kind of laughter that makes her snort like a pig, or spit saliva out of her mouth.

The sort of involuntary fit of silliness that makes her gut spasm so intensely you’re worried that she’s going to suffocate, or piss herself. Those times when she laughs so hard that she falls out of bed, or slips off the sofa, and just rolls around against the ground; clutching her sides.

When she reminds you more of a dorky fifth grader, or a crazy wino, than a mythical creature. When it finally occurs to you that all that time you wasted feeling insecure, trying to look cool in front of her, you could have been really enjoying her company. That’s all she’s ever really wanted. Because she’s too goofy herself, to have judged you…

How can you really love a woman, if you’ve never seen her cry? Not a quiet sort of sob, where she presses her nose against your chest. Not a soft, tiny weep that makes her avert your gaze. I mean the desperate sort of wail that makes her sound like a tortured ghost, and forces snot out her nose.

The sort of uncontrolled surge of emotion that makes her body shake so violently you’re afraid that she’s going to shatter to bits, or hurt herself. Those moments when she cries so hard that she can’t get out of bed, or falls down the cracks, and just curls into a little ball on the floor; cradling herself.

When she looks more like a creature of the deep, or a mental ward patient, than an ethereal goddess. When you finally realize that all that effort you burned through, trying to problem-solve her, you could have just held her until she was ready to gather up the pieces. That’s all she’s ever really needed. Because she’s too complex, for you to fix…

How can you really love a woman, if you’ve never seen her at her most ridiculous or vulnerable. If you don’t have the patience, or the stomach, or the vision to see past her graces and virtues to look her flaws and vices in the eyes. How can you appreciate her unique quality of beauty when you don’t understand her particular sort of ugly?

How can you expect her to really love you back, if you’ve never expressed enough interest to be invited into her inner world? 

How can you really love a woman, when you’re already in love with her idealized version?

How could a real woman ever stand a chance? 

(Source: edgeandvoidfriction)

July 1st, 2013

cascadingraindrops:

I bought a joint at a coffee shop in Amsterdam and smoked it in the bar next door. I watched the girls in the windows with eyes as crimson as their lights and wondered what it must feel like to be purchased for a night. 

A year later and I think I can finally relate.

He begged for my sex when the early morning rays streaked my brows. He begged for my sex when my legs were spread a thousand miles from his.

"I’m lucky to have had you -" he whispered through the phone on a midnight call. “I am so lucky.”

In the dark, against the wall, on the desk, on the floor at 12am, at 6am, at 3pm. At. At. At. Oh.

I trusted. I held on. He was a lover of two months, a best friend of four years, and a liar for all twenty-one years of his existence.

He bought me with fraudulent trust, corrupt promises, and the lies he laced my tongue with as he kissed, lies that told me I meant more than just this. 

The night I found out I was just another conquest I stood by the oceanside with crimson eyes and watched those girls in my mind. I took another hit, blowing the smoke into the ocean air, and realized I wasn’t as different as I’d like to think.

June 30th, 2013

Trust

You know, trust is a funny thing. It’s so fragile. It’s a priceless antique vase. One slip, one bump, one little shift of the foundation, and it shatters. A shower of glittering fragments. Sometimes your so concerned with keeping that vase in tact, so worried with losing it, that you forget the reason you have it in the first place. You forget to simply admire the beauty of it.

You don’t appreciate what you had until it’s gone.

Sure, you can try to repair it. Glue it back together. A long, painstaking experience. Each small piece a sharp and jagged reminder to your bloody fingers that you should have been more careful. At the end of which it still won’t be the same. It has lost all value. Sometimes we wonder if we should bother with putting it back together. We think we should just sweep it up and toss it away with this morning’s coffee grounds.

Trust is a funny thing.

May 9th, 2013

I stood there, helpless. The white walls closing in around me. The clean smell of antiseptic clinging to my tongue as I gripped her chilled hand in mine. Despair. It was like a fog, and the harsh lights did nothing to dispel it. There were too many people in that tiny little white room, too many bodies, but everything was still, as if time itself were holding it’s breath. Waiting. Waiting for something. Waiting for permission. I squeezed her hand tighter, I tried to force one corner of my mouth into a sad smile, but I don’t think my muscles responded. Maybe they did, because a ripple moved through the room as she finally looked at me. The usual brilliance of her blue-green eyes were muted. Dimmed with shock and beneath it, pain. The grief, the loss, it choked me. I couldn’t breathe. She shook her head, closed her eyes again. She knew what I wanted to tell her, all the things I didn’t know how to say. I didn’t have to say them. A nurse moved close to her, pressed against the bed. I didn’t even hear the words. A moment passed. The hand in mine squeezed back and I watched as her eyes opened, tears leaked out. She nodded and the room around us erupted into activity. A frenzy impossible to follow. I stroked her temple, brushing the hair away from her face. I told her I loved her. I told her how strong she was. “My baby..” She whimpered as the doctor cut the cord. The fragile pink body was cleaned and wrapped in a blanket. Not even big enough for clothes. “I want to hold her..” Barely a whisper, but it was answered immediately as they placed the tiny infant in her mothers waiting hands.

March 16th, 2013

tipher:

The keys being laid to rest upon the counter.

A sniffle as she turns to walk away.

The front door clicking closed.

These are the sounds of your dreams crashing to a halt.

She’s gone.

Only out the door for mere seconds

yet she’s already out of reach,

out of sigh,

but never to be out of…

August 6th, 2012

I haven’t posted anything in a while. My life has been a little crazy lately. I hope to remedy this writing hiatus very soon. My apologies.

July 15th, 2012

Envy, Pain, Betrayal, Anger, Jealousy,Hate.

All these feelings stir again. Awake in me something feral. Taints my vision red, paints my soul black.

Vengeance.

Rip, tear, shred, break, crunch, scream, cry.

Bring me back from the brink of my madness.

June 26th, 2012

Soul Mate

Plato

In his dialogue The Symposium, Plato has Aristophanes present a story about soul mates. Aristophanes states that humans originally had four arms, four legs, and a single head made of two faces, but Zeus feared their power and split them all in half, condemning them to spend their lives searching for the other half to complete them.

Do you believe in Soul Mates?

bluesandbarebones:

Occasionally I am reminded

of the reasons
I write
and the reasons
I share my writing
with strangers
on the internet
and not my own
family or friends.

One of those reasons
would be not having to answer
such questions as:

“Does anybody actually know
these words you are using here?”

“Wait, is this about me?” 

“I thought this was a love poem.
Why is it so sad? This is terrible.”

“Are you sure this isn’t about me?”

“I’m sorry I just don’t have any idea
what you’re talking about. Can you please
explain this in simple words?”

“I know you said this one isn’t about me
but really, could you just change the ending?”

“Do people like this kind of thing?”

“You know this isn’t actual poetry, right?
I mean, nothing here is rhyming.
Did you mean for this to rhyme?” 

“Wow. I’ve never heard anything like that before.
Did you make that up?”

“It sounds good but I’m a little concerned
about you now. Are you ok?” 

I’m not sure where I’m going with this
except to say,
not everybody appreciates 

sushi. So don’t be offended
when you offer it
and they wrinkle their nose

and say “Don’t you know
that has raw fish in it?”
“You like that seaweed stuff?”

Just bow graciously,
give a polite Oyasumi nasai, 
and retreat back into the darkness

of your anonymous 
private
kitchen.

Love this.

My dearest sons,

           I’m writing this so that you will understand. What I feel for you. How important you are to me. How important you are to the world. I hope and pray everyday by the time you are old enough to understand this that I will be able to tell you myself. My father wasn’t able to tell me. So I am leaving this. For you. Just in case it’s needed.

           I love you. Know that. Above anything else, I love you so deeply, sometimes it hurts. Sometimes I just stare at you and I can’t believe how that love that be so entangled in my marrow, singing in my blood, branded on my heart, etched into my soul. It is unconditional. Nothing will stop it, erase it, or cause it to fade. Gay, straight, liberal, conservative, alcoholic, prostitute. I love you. You grow up to be a serial killer? Maybe that’s my fault, who knows, but I will still love you. Forever.

          I might get mad sometimes. I’m not perfect. I might even scream, or cry, or curse. I might be disappointed with you if I know you didn’t do your best. You’re probably going to feel like you hate me sometimes. I promise I’ll always admit when I was wrong, and apologize. I promise I will try to be consistent, and structured, and you will have a curfew. I will make sure you do your homework, and I will find out when you lie. I promise I will always take care of you when you are sick, by making chicken soup or grilled cheese just the way you like it. I promise I won’t ever forget to tell you how much I love you, and I will always try to remember what it was like to be 16.

          I promise you will always be able to tell me anything. But I can’t always promise just telling me the truth won’t get you in trouble, I can promise you will be in less trouble than if you lie. You will believe in Santa Claus, at least for a while. But I won’t ever lie to you when it’s important. I will strive to teach you everything I know. Even if you won’t listen, I’m going to try anyway.

          I tried so hard to stay with your father. I wanted us to stay together. It was just something that could not be. It’s not your fault. Don’t ever blame yourself. I hope someday you will understand. Or maybe I hope you won’t ever have to. Just know that we both love you very much, and it’s better this way. Better for all of us.

          You are amazing, wonderful, strong. I’m not going to tell you that you can be whatever you want, or become whatever you set your mind to. Life doesn’t always work out that way. I can tell you that if you want it bad enough, and you apply yourself, you are giving it your best shot. That’s all you can do. If it doesn’t work out. You didn’t fail. You tried, and that is more than most people ever do. Always have faith in yourself. Never forget that I always have faith in you, I am your number one fan, your biggest cheerleader, and I will always encourage you to follow your dreams.

                                                                            Love Always,

                                                                            Your Mother.

June 22nd, 2012

If I could let go,

Forget,

Forgive,

Never regret.

I’d be okay.

I think,

I’d be okay.