Week after week, I essentially kill myself with work and school. I’m living the middle class life, and I don’t mind it. I like working for myself, and proving to the world that I can strive against the odds. Anyways, after a long week of deprived sleep and continuous hours of work, I decided to go out. Let loose for a night. I went with a group of people that I don’t necessarily...
I DON’T BELIEVE IN THE PITY CARD. NOT ONE BIT.
Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a...– Einstein (via birdharp) (via handsacrossthewater)
I want a Sunday kind of love.
Why You Should Never Marry A Poet →
handsacrossthewater: deviantfinds: Think about it - the way that credit cards, bougainvillea, vacations, dictionaries, the road on the way to work will all never be enough. The poet wishes with her deepest bones and writes that she wishes she would have killed you in the supermarket. She wonders why she ever loved you in song. She publishes book after book. Each line detailing how your...
wooden human mannequin
size me up to break me down sing me a song to shut me up write me a note get into my brain make me believe I’m the ultimate shame crawl through my skin sink into my stomach dance on my eyelashes I’m sure I won’t flinch it’s a sinch I’ve been doing it for years I’ve been doing it a life time
Your ‘I will’s’ have no substance behind them anymore and because of that I hate playing the fool.
What does love mean to you?
A: I don’t understand love at all. I even have trouble recognizing it sometimes. So far, all I know for sure is what love isn’t. It isn’t wholehearted devotion; it isn’t shared opinions; it isn’t ever at first sight; it isn’t blind; it isn’t glue; it isn’t a whirlwind; it isn’t real if it i…sn’t mutual; it isn’t one of...