greatwhiteprivilege:

• don’t pretend to like me if you don’t
• don’t pretend to be my friend if you don’t like me
• don’t pretend you miss me if you don’t
• don’t
• don’t
• don’t

(via romulusthread)

You keep a lot of secrets
And I keep none
Wish I could go back
And keep some

You’re fireproof
Nothing breaks your heart
You’re fireproof
It’s just the way you are

childishnotions:

writing is safer, somehow
because my pen cannot stutter like my lips do,
and words get stuck in throats,
not fingertips, can’t stumble
on paper trails of blue lines
because writing is definite and clear
and no one can tell if i am crying
or laughing
through written words alone 

(via moriarty)

I’m beginning to realize how little I mean to everyone and its pretty fucking painful.

(Source: theinsideofmymind, via hummelss-deactivated20130518)

edgeofdecember:

karlynnwk:

Yeah, I remember that too.

And I miss it.

words are stuck. want them unstuck. working on it, little by little.

focloir:

what you learned today:

there is a form of comfort in not knowing. that’s the reason why being around strangers doesn’t terrify you. you do not know what they are capable of doing, or what they think about you. it doesn’t matter that you do not know their names. or that you do not know the names of the books they like. or the television shows they watch when they’re bored. or that they do not know yours. it doesn’t matter that you do not recognize their faces from a different time, or a different place at all. or if you’ll ever learn someday the secrets they hide under their hair. it doesn’t matter. nothing matters when you are stripped of the comforts of being acquainted with people you’re surrounded with, and it throws you off your orbit for a while. and that’s okay. the avalanche of faces in every four walls you contain yourself in takes your mind of yourself and all the things that distract you. the static inside your head forms an image, and then a story, and then you learn that you can write again. you do not realize how much you know so little. there is a form of comfort in not knowing, and for all the things that you do not know, you write about. you turn to poetry. you splash in a canvas. you find the answers to the little things that you do not know. like the name of the person sitting next to you on the bus. what they like to eat for breakfast, how they like their coffee. what makes them happy. that’s why you write. you write their story, and yours, and how all the pieces come together.