• 15-year-old me: MOM I'm practically an ADULT ugggh you never let me do ANYTHING in olden times i could get MARRIED *eye roll into another dimension*
  • me now: for my birthday i want food and to stay on your health insurance
Does love make you selfish?
It sure makes you weak in the knees.
You haven’t felt this disentangled from your own bones before.
He’s all that ever comes pouring out of your mouth.
He’s all you run your tongue over.
His name, like salt and leftovers between your teeth.
You wind your palms tight round his words when it gets dark.
Keep the warmth in his voice for when it rains too hard.
Does love make you selfish?
You sailed the August rivers for months on end
until the June canal led you straight to the Pacific.
You found in him a sliver of sea, still fresh, still uncharted;
turned it red and sparkling and alive.
Now you have more heaven and sun swelling up in your lungs
than you could ever think to do with them.
Do your ribs ache from floating all the time?
Do your fingers wear away from too much light?
No. You won’t let them.
Just promise you won’t drown. Just don’t forget to breathe.
Come up for air once in a while.
Does love make you selfish?
They tell you that you found it too young. Too soon.
That at eighteen, your sails should’ve been mangled beyond recognition
and wouldn’t be stitched back until the rest of your skin
worked their way clean and smooth around your body.
They don’t know how it really feels, do they?
You built an island in his chest to rest your bones on.
This is where you’re allowed to put down your armour.
This is where you loosen the heaviness, the gravity crushing you.
This is where you go when the wreckage piles up.
But you don’t forget about the other parts of the world.
The course of the rest of you still runs deep and violent as ever.

Suraya Kamal, Does Love Make You Selfish?  (via c-oquetry)

(via injuries)

nokiabae:

my biggest fear is I’m married & my husband says, “let’s cut sugar out of our diet” so I have to leave with the kids in the middle of the night

(via guy)

the continental drift.

five—a—day:

Darling,

I have bones
heavier than continents
and they have moved
apart in that same way

so that

these days,
I am several people
who have inched away
from one another
over time.

And maybe one day,
very far from now,
they will reunite
and it will not hurt
to talk about how once
I was too weak to even
keep myself together.

Ever Yours,
Pangea

clearing up the debris

five—a—day:

I am trying to explain to a boy how my heart is wet cement

and that even though he’s pushed his hands into it, it still has yet

to dry.  I am a lifetime of work, I mean to say, but instead I say

sometimes I want you to hold me because I’m sad and sometimes

I’m sad because I want you to hold me, and do you see the

difference between those two things? He doesn’t. It’s that sometimes 

I have bad days and sometimes I make bad days for myself because

I like the reward of him putting me to bed. And I know it’s not fair

that sometimes I’m sick and sometimes I’m faking, but there are days

I just can’t face the world. I need you to love me, I tell him, because

my forehead is a fire and the kisses you leave on it smoulder.

I am always going to be hard work. I am always going to be manual

labour. You will need gloves. And safety glasses. Sometimes bulldozers.

And you must keep going until you put out your back, or until you fear

you might, in which case, you’ll get a note from the doctor and I’ll get 

some more blue collar staff. There will always be people with the muscle

to shift the rocks inside me, but there will only ever be one

who had the patience to appreciate the view when it opens. 

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peter-capaldi-yo:

"omg remember when in 7th grade when you-"

(via setyouregotothesidee)

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