9 years ago on April 29th, 2016 |1,167,827 notes
Infinite
Some infinities are bigger.
“The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off.”
― Gloria Steinem
― Gloria Steinem
In 2001, my parents bet me that if I did not drink, smoke, or do drugs by 21, they would give me $1500. Here I am on my 21st birthday holding the contract I signed when I was 8.
damn i can lie to my parents too but i aint make 1500 bucks for it
I have two daughters, so I’m raising two future women. Maybe! I mean, one of them might be a guy later. It’s possible. It could happen. Someday one of my daughters could be like ‘Dad, I’m really a guy’ and I’ll be like ‘Alright well let’s get you a dick, honey. We’ll get you the nicest dick in town.’
-
Louis CK (reason #94826 why he’s the best comedian)
i’m seeing a lot of people reblogging suicide hotlines and this is just a reminder that this is a suicide help line that works like a text-based instant messenger for people who may need to talk to someone but have trouble/are uncomfortable making phone calls
Never don’t reblog this.
There are so many people who have such bad anxiety about phone calls.
This can save so many lives
Three years later, a new girl sits cross-legged on your bed.
She tastes like a different flavor of bubblegum than you are used to.
She opens up a book that you had to read in high school, and a folded picture of us falls out of chapter three.
Now there are two unfinished stories resting in her lap.
Inevitably, she asks, and you tell her.
You say: I dated her a while back.
You don’t say: Sometimes, when I’m holding you, I imagine the smell of her vanilla perfume.
You say: She was younger than me.
You don’t say: The sixteen summers in her bones warmed the eighteen winters my skin had weathered.
You say: It’s nothing now.
You don’t say: But it was everything then.
- Some things are better left unsaid.
(via soulsscrawl)
(via soulsscrawl)
She means nothing to him anymore
he swears,
and his words feel hot as they settle
in your hair -
“you aren’t her,”
he says
but
when the night settles around you
maybe you can taste her tears on his pillow, maybe
you can smell her shampoo or the sweet soap
she agonized over picking out just so he’d tell her she
reminded him
of lilacs
maybe at first you feel good, good, good,
you feel chosen, you feel
like you won
but
her ghost has become as familiar to you
as your shadow, you taste her toothpaste and
you hear her laughter,
he says “she used to paint her nails like you”
and you say
“yeah?” and
go home
and don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry
because you feel good, good, good
god did he just choose you because you wear her dresses and like the same things as she did except you’re more into his tv shows and less into weddings are you just a replacement are you just scar tissue to fill up the wounds she left are you just the girl between the girl he wanted to marry and the girl he actually will
and he says
“she means nothing to me anymore”
and you say
“yeah?”
and some sad sick part of you
knows you should save yourself the trouble
of a heartbreak so loud your neighbors would call the cops, thinking they heard gunshots -
you’re smart and you’ve seen how these things go and
one day he’s going to say
“she meant nothing to me, anyway”
and he’ll be talking about
you
because you already mean less to him
than you really should
but god help you every time he kisses you
you feel
good, good, good.
he swears,
and his words feel hot as they settle
in your hair -
“you aren’t her,”
he says
but
when the night settles around you
maybe you can taste her tears on his pillow, maybe
you can smell her shampoo or the sweet soap
she agonized over picking out just so he’d tell her she
reminded him
of lilacs
maybe at first you feel good, good, good,
you feel chosen, you feel
like you won
but
her ghost has become as familiar to you
as your shadow, you taste her toothpaste and
you hear her laughter,
he says “she used to paint her nails like you”
and you say
“yeah?” and
go home
and don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry
because you feel good, good, good
god did he just choose you because you wear her dresses and like the same things as she did except you’re more into his tv shows and less into weddings are you just a replacement are you just scar tissue to fill up the wounds she left are you just the girl between the girl he wanted to marry and the girl he actually will
and he says
“she means nothing to me anymore”
and you say
“yeah?”
and some sad sick part of you
knows you should save yourself the trouble
of a heartbreak so loud your neighbors would call the cops, thinking they heard gunshots -
you’re smart and you’ve seen how these things go and
one day he’s going to say
“she meant nothing to me, anyway”
and he’ll be talking about
you
because you already mean less to him
than you really should
but god help you every time he kisses you
you feel
good, good, good.
This is for the girl who covers her bruises with make-up, coupled with excuses about hitting doors and slippery stairs;
“Darling, he won’t ever change. You cannot fix him. Stop trying.”
To the girl who cries herself to sleep at night, fist on her mouth, muffling her sobs, the girl who prays to a god she doesn’t believe in with nothing but questions of why, why why;
“The answer is not because you deserve this, or that you are never good enough. The answer is because he is nothing but a boy with demons inside of him and no, they won’t ever disappear.”
I know you are breaking inside, all bones and darkness and twisted doubt and you think he is the only one who can love you but
“Love doesn’t hurt you, nor does it guilt you, ruin you, reduce you into nothing. Love is pure and light and whatever love is, it is not him. It is not him.”
I see you, head down and spine crooked and deadened eyes. I see you watch what you say and limit what you do and I see you making excuses for his cruelty because it is your fault and you served his dinner wrong.
“You were made to be beautiful; to stand tall with your melting curves and your soft skin. You are a canvas made by a god somewhere and his filthy hands should not paint you black and purple and red and blue.”
To the girl with the broken ribs trying to hold a beaten heart;
“Leave.”
last night a guy said to me “you are very, very pretty” and i said “i know” and he said like patronisingly “you KNOW?” and i said “you think you’re the first person to ever compliment me?” and he didn’t know where to go from there
