poetry // embarrassing ooey gooey mushy stuff


probablyygay:

I just need consistency and someone who fucking cares and doesn’t give up on me.

Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.”
—Kait Rokowski, A Good Day (via perfect)

(Source: justsingyourlifeaway)

maybe we were stacking each other
up on buildings, drew feathers on the
span of our backs and pretended they
were wings, wrote poetry on each
other’s skin and acted like we weren’t
each other’s favorite sin.

maybe we knitted back all the empty
parts, counted the gaps and the
staggering lungs, but we let each other
suffocate before we could fully drown,
and the first time we fought, wild eyed
and a little bit frustrated from loving
too much, you just stormed out.

maybe our love was only meant for the
sheets, thought we were okay but we
were already bleeding, and we couldn’t
really construct anything, so we fell
down before we could mend this useless
relationship.

How is it possible for you to just pretend that we weren’t everything before? || m.a.p. (via rhapxody)
It’s two years later,
and you’re two years gone,
but I still miss you like
I miss all my ghosts.
On Sundays,
I dance with my mistakes
until they stop stepping on my feet,
and I call myself brave so many times
I almost believe it’s my name.
I bury my failures
graveyards away from here,
but somehow you still show up at my door.
I have a growing pile of letters
that the mailman handed me by accident.
Letters that showed up on the wrong
doorstep
and didn’t know any better.
The worst parts of me want to keep them.
The better parts of me walk them to the houses they belong to,
and I swear I see you through the aching windows
every time.
—Y.Z, unopened (via rustyvoices)
-and-:

Ariko Inaoka is a Japanese photographer who has been documenting two Icelandic identical twins girls, Erna and Hrefna, since they were nine years old in 2009. Her intensions for this project is to capture the very precious period of their growth from child to teenager, physically as well as psychologically.

-and-:

Ariko Inaoka is a Japanese photographer who has been documenting two Icelandic identical twins girls, Erna and Hrefna, since they were nine years old in 2009. Her intensions for this project is to capture the very precious period of their growth from child to teenager, physically as well as psychologically.