you're loved.   a bit of wreck in the mid-Atlantic.

A plate of quite peculiar on a dish of my own.

A tablespoon of feather, tickle me to the bone.

Give me recipes for happy with the chemicals gone,

Drinking freedom from a bottle to the tune of belong.

— 2 hours ago
#blue october  #x amount of words  #music  #song  #yes 
"If a poem hasn’t ripped apart your soul; you haven’t experienced poetry."
— 2 days ago with 203575 notes

The door is always open. I don’t mean that for everybody. In all honesty, I’m this hateful, dreadful sort of person. I hate everyone I don’t intend on fucking & then I eventually hate them too.

I’m difficult. I know I’m difficult. I know that loving me made you cry. I know that I did some terrible things, but how I am with you, how I felt for you, how I still feel for you, for us, is a way I’ve never been able to be with anyone, for anyone. I’ve never been able to understand anything past my own body & yet I understand you.

You think I would yell if you came back. You’re wrong. You think it’s better off this way. You’re wrong. You think she’s going to be enough & that one day her beauty will burn your eyelids open. You’re wrong. You’re wrong. You’re wrong. Everything you think you know is wrong.

You see, I keep coming back for you. I keep turning over the rug, flipping the mattress. So what if we both drew blood? We can just change the goddamn sheets. It never has to be so complicated.

If we lose one thing, we’re never guaranteed to find another. There is no carbon copy. There’s no expiration date either. It’s never too late. The gun you shot & the gun I shot & the blood & the sheets & the weakness. All it proves is that I still love you. All it proves is that you can’t kill this.

So stop trying. Stop thinking about what it will take. Stop thinking about who still needs to forgive who & what for. There’s not a goddamn thing to forgive. It’s okay by me. The wall we crashed into, is okay by me. Messes can always be cleaned & bones can always be reset. So, please, stop thinking about what I’ll say or what you’ll say, because this is what I will say

—I miss you more than I could ever hate you & I know how to love you better than I know how to be angry with you, so when you want to come home, just come home. The door is always open. You don’t even have to knock.—

— 4 days ago with 667 notes


Nancy Sinatra // Bang Bang

Now he’s gone I don’t know why 
And till this day some times I cry 
He didn’t even say goodbye 
He didn’t take the time to lie 

— 1 week ago with 12222 notes
"You have my permission not to love me;
I am a cathedral of deadbolts
and I’d rather burn myself down
than change the locks."
Rachel McKibbens, “Letter From My Brain To My Heart” (via feellng)

(Source: feellng, via bukowskiwascorrect)

— 1 week ago with 2677 notes
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved."
Jack Kerouac, On the Road (via wordsnquotes)

(via wordsnquotes)

— 1 week ago with 2206 notes

I put off washing my clothes
for what felt like weeks.
last night I finally washed
the ones I wore
when you were here.
I haven’t touched the
sheets yet. It might be
laziness, but the longer
I wait - the longer
you may linger.

They have a charged
memory of you somehow.
I’ve put away the photographs.
I’ll send back the clothes
you left hanging
in my bedroom

Soon I will be forced
to wash the sheets.

I can’t pretend anymore
that you will be here again
coming back to find them
exactly as you left them
coming back to find me
just the same.

"Pretending To Move On" By Radha Kistler {} (via floatinginthethoughtstreams)
— 1 week ago with 63 notes



Patrick Maloney - “Lighthouses”

"Fall in love. Convince them that you are the person you wish you were, and you will work so hard to trick them into believing you that you might actually become it."

A beautiful, uplifting poem from Patrick Maloney of the University of Minnesota, performing during Button’s third Inside Voices show.

"There is a difference between a great life and an easy one and most of us spend so much time trying to have both we die with full wallets and short obituaries. There’s only so much light inside of us, only a few things can blossom in the gardens of our bodies, and I don’t want to drown my saplings in vodka or netflix (…) so when the night falls and the wind dies, I follow the breadcrumb trail of lighthouses."

— 1 week ago with 1800 notes
"It was a strange time. I couldn’t tell if the signs needed to be listened to or ignored."
— 1 week ago with 42 notes