Flower Child 🌻

constuhllations:

i.

i accidentally close doors on people that make my heart move faster than my body. your hands glide too quick for me and i’m trying to make sure i don’t talk too much so excuse me if i

ii.

seem to have a tendency to befriend fear. i say no, because saying yes means i have to fly and

iii.

no, i am not afraid of heights. i am afraid of falling flat again alone. i have felt the thrill of life before. God, i loved so hard yet

iv. somehow feeling alive is harder than it used to be.

v.

but you make me feel alive.

vi.

i guess i just hold onto whatever feels like air because i have tasted depth before and drowned beneath it. all you do is spin around the floor, and gosh, you are a floating space.

vii.

i have never met someone who can be nothing and everything all at once.

ix.

so excuse me if i seem terrified of you, but it is hard to find people these days who are full of life

x.

and i, for one, am terrified of living. show me how it’s done

— prose from “lights in the sky” by makha zia

ciarachimera:

Glad to see we still got lots of porn bots, there is still porn on my dash, and now half my followers are pixelated icons even if their blog wasn’t that sexual to begin with. Amazing.

peppermintlarry:

mcdonalds cashier: sorry the flurry machine broke 

me: its fine *goes home* *crying* *opens laptop* *opens tumblr* *new text post* 

I was sensitive, a baby lamb, pink and tender

and You were harsh, sharp, edges and pain

you were broken and you wanted me to break too

your knife against my pale pink skin, deepen the wound

“its fine” 

january 19 2017

rideonmidnightcowgirl:

how can you even be a woman without going absolutely batshit insane

fullmetalfisting:

toboldlylesbian:

stevenrogered:

it’s almost that time of the year again, so you know what that means

You know, that’s fair

theocseason4:

violentwavesofemotion:

“It is a chill blue December day; gloomy, icy, transparent. I am still resting. I am resting and resting–and sit about reading and relaxing,”

— Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Aurelia Plath written c. December 1960