And when I die,

Don’t you dare come to my funeral Don’t put flowers on my grave

Don’t cry and say you’ll miss me

Because you’re the reason I’m six feet under

Wondering if I’ll ever Rest in Peace

When My Faults Fall Like Snowflakes: a spoken word poem about anxiety and depression (by S.H.D.)

(Source: chocolate-and-rain-boots)

English due on Wednesday, so is AP US History, I’m pretty sure the Science test is tomorrow, or was that Calc? No fuck the Calc test is fifth and the science test is fifth the next day.

the snow is falling heavier tonight.
it clumps together like sea foam
and I am caught up in the pull of its tide.

my breath cannot be catched.
it is not a baseball
and your sympathy is no mitt.

it’s snowing anyway,
and to play baseball in this weather?
you’d have to be crazy.

you’re crazy.
maybe I’m crazy, but I think I’m okay with that?
okay I’m not okay with that.

the snow heaps keep building.
they cover my roads
and push against my chest.

god does it hurt.
but not the pain kind of hurt.
just the frostbite kind.

Yesterday, the snow fell outside my classroom window
and a misguided romantic told me it was so beautiful
yes, beautiful

Beautiful like a Cameron Diaz romcom, beautiful.
Beautiful like an “I’ll fix you”, beautiful.
Beautiful until you’re the one standing outside in the fucking cold, beautiful.

You can’t fix me, Beautiful.
Every snowflake is different
and I can’t see shit in this blizzard

but there are children playing eskimo across the street.
i think i can feel my heartbeat
slipping on iced over concrete.
need the heat
putting sunshine in the backseat.

i think i’ll keep a few sun rays in my pocket.
put them next to where i keep my bubbly persona.
take them out whenever you wanna play baseball.

honey, smile.
honey, cheer up.
at least you’re not starving in africa-
you are so privileged.
it’s not that cold out.

no, m’am, it’s fucking freezing.
look at me and tell me my cheeks aren’t red.
stab me with an icicle,

I won’t feel it.
and I don’t need your validation
to say whether or not I’ve been stabbed.

I just need the snow plow to come.
and the heaviness on my chest to melt.
and the tide to

3 hours ago

Levi the Poet (via fixedfoto)

She loved VOGUE and American Teen Magazines almost as much as she loved vomiting…
3 hours ago

Suhur Omar, he’s a good man (via abovemyflaws)

I love him, she said
I love him though sometimes
he leaves and makes love
to other women -
he makes me happy amid
all the pain he had created in me,
he’s a good man whose anger
has taken the best of him
you don’t understand, he’s
a good man, she promised me
I cannot leave him, my friend
I love him and I have done things
I’ve done things that no man
would ever want in a woman
I’ve done things that
you can never understand, she cried
I cannot die alone and bitter,
he is my only option, my mother
loves him though she does not
know of the scars and bruises
he has left around my
body and my father
is happy there is another
man in the house that he could talk
sports and manhood with
My friend, I don’t know
a life without him
he is the only home I have
ever truly known
I cannot leave him, I’m sorry
I cannot leave him
3 hours ago
between bookshelves →


You are the messy brown hair,
curved stomach,
and pimple-pocked girl
sitting two desks away.

You are arm freckles
and florescent lights,
and you’ve caked on
enough foundation for a week.

You are the cardigan
pulled tight across your bosom
and the pen tucked behind your

After two hours
you still haven’t noticed

4 hours ago

James Frey, A Million Little Pieces (via larmoyante)

(via running-with-muses)

I turn and I slowly walk away and I don’t look back. It has always been a fault of mine, but it is the way I am. I never look back. Never.
3 days ago
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