Conceal;don't feel

Hi, I'm SarahRay. I complain a lot.
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IVR SERIOUSLY BEEN CRYING FOR THE PAST 30 MINUTES READING OLD CONVERSATIONS WITH PEOPLE. IM SUCH A BITCH . WHY DO I DO THIS

lunarless:

does this even make sense
fantasyorwishes:

addiction - (l.a.b.)
phyerfly:

why not read my poetry AND learn how to make chocolate chip cookies at the same time?? but yeah, i wrote this and it does actually make cookies if you want (just disregard the poem) okay sorry if this is lame goodbye 

The day you left, i wanted to write poems about you. But there is nothing poetic about the way you refused to say my name. There is nothing poetic about the way i begged you stay. There is nothing poetic about the way you booked that flight to New York and left me to clean up the mess you made. You are nothing more than a boy who told lies and left because you were too afraid to clean up your own mess. Theres is absolutely nothing poetic about the way you left. I cannot make poetry out of a boy who makes monkey bars out of peoples ribs. Poetry is beautiful, and honest. Something you dont know how to be.

-g. (via unanswered-words)

wo-nderstruck:

I still can’t find the words
Getting rid of bad people in your life is a cathartic experience.
Those bad people are like itchy scabs all along your skin,
And you spend so much of your time scratching at those scabs,
Reddening your skin and driving yourself mad,
You’re trying to fix something that you know is unfixable,
The damage is done,
The cut is there,
Those people or that person who was once your world has left you stinging and burning,
And you scratch and you scratch and you scratch,
Trying desperately — even pathetically! — to keep that person with you who has only made you suffer,
Just for the sake of familiarity,
Because that itch has become part of you,
Has become home,
And home is no text backs and rude comments.
But then one fine day you get some courage,
Your nails claw across the scab and you find puckered fine pink flesh lying beneath,
Tough, strong, there to protect you,
And you suddenly realize home is a feeling, not a person,
And that feeling is peace.

-Home Is A Feeling, Dana Gabrielle Espinosa (via youcantbesure)

vipeur:

1:33pm - this pain is for you. written by me.
recliche:

just wrote this  x

What gives you the fucking right to decide I’m just a body? I’m a skyscraper, I’m a hurricane, I’m the goddamn ocean. You will never deserve my vastness because you do not understand how to love someone like me. I will never be your one night stand again, because I almost let you drain me dry each time I laid in your bed. Never again.

How dare you think you are entitled to claim my body and not even care if it breaks the heart you have no intention of keeping?


-I don’t have time to be bitter | S.B. (via fallinlovewithapoet)

OH AND SOMEONE CALLED ME FUNNY TODAY LIKE ACTUALLY SAID I WAS FUNNY. DO YOU KNOW HOW HAPPY THAT MAKES ME. PEOPLE NEVER CALL ME FUNNY???!! LITERALLY THE ONLY THING I EVER GET IS PRETTY. BEING CALLED FUNNY LITERALLY MADE MY WEEK KNOWING I ACTUALLY MAKE YOU LAUGH AND SMILE IS SUCH A NICE THING. THANK YOU.

croutoncat:

i have hit rock bottom and its only tuesday

(via gmbarron)