embarrassing ooey gooey mushy stuff


you said Is
there anything which
is dead or alive more beautiful
than my body,to have in your fingers
—e e cummings, from “you said is” (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)
I am sorry for filling you with beer and bad thoughts and then asking you why you shook. I am sorry for pinching you, for hitting you, for bruising the thin-skinned parts of you. I am sorry for the names I called you when we were fighting. You are not ugly. You are not useless. You would not be better off gone. I’m sorry for almost throwing you out into the street because my sadness was too much for me. I’m sorry for carving my fingernails into your thigh and then resenting the way people asked, “How’d that happen?” I’m sorry for plucking you and nicking your calves with drugstore razors. I’m sorry I let some people see you in the moonlight. They didn’t deserve to know the color of your hips like I do. I’m sorry for leaving you convulsing over a toilet bowl over some boy. I’m sorry I did not thank you for simply trying to take me where I wanted to go. I’m sorry I screamed at you to shrink, shrink, shrink when all you could do was grow. I’m sorry that this apology is ten years too late. I’m sorry that it will probably come again. I’m sorry that I do not treat anybody else as poorly as I have treated you. I’m sorry that I am constantly learning how to love you, when you have never once doubted how you feel about me. I’m sorry in ways I have not yet learned to communicate.

An Apology to My Body | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)

I asked Robi if she could give me an opinion on this and she burst into tears in our school library. I made someone cry for the day. Time to pack it in, boys and girls. 

(via lora-mathis)

when the time comes
to love yourself well
it takes a good solid month
to stop crying
about everything
you have to let go
Andrea Gibson (via bornreadygeneration)

(Source: bornreadygeneration.com)

tristamateer:

I keep thinking
one day
I’ll wake up
and not love you
anymore:

just like that.

When I said goodbye
that was barely an ending to a letter.
It was more of a five-day-old toothache.
More of a “I’m not going to the dentist,
if he’s not holding my hand.”
Don’t you think cliffs feel loneliness?
If no one falls for them, if no one
dares to take away their depths and darkness
and jump down, their bones grinding into rock pieces.
When I said goodbye
that was barely reaching for an eject button,
or a step towards an exit route.
It was three-fourths “I’m too sad for you,
you wouldn’t want it on your hands,
spoiling all over like being part of an epidemic,”
because I’m a burning building, a first aid kit
without anything sterile but my fingertips.
When I said goodbye
I was barely leaving you, I stood there
as you walked away, whispering to myself
“Turn around. Please. Oh God please.
Just turn around and stay.”
The Saddest Word by Kharla M. Brillo  (via thefiftyfirstshade)