Now Playing Tracks

1. I tried writing a love poem, but it stuck in my mouth and choked me. Nothing is poetic about a boy tracing circles into my thigh, pretending he knows what to do with his hands.

2. Here’s how the story goes: we bite into the churches, we swallow them whole; we want to be holy, we want to find the kingdom of god in our stomachs, but all we are is hollow.

3. The wolf inside of me howling itself raw, and he is the moon, and he is every single goddamn star. I want to kiss him celestial; I want him to lay me out like a constellation.

4. We’re tossing our hearts down the wishing wells now because our chests are the only things not empty.

5. The beginning doesn’t flash red like it should. Sadness is never painted in neons. It trickles in the palest of pastels and turns concrete in your chest, and by then it’s too late, and you’re sinking, you’re sinking, you’re sinking.

6. Be kind, be brave, let flowers bloom from your tongue.

7. This bed is a sacrificial altar, and he is painting you pretty. Do not go quiet, do not go careful. When he gives you his wrist, bite straight through.

Emily Palermo, viii. (via starredsoul)
Just because I liked something at one point in time doesn’t mean I’ll always like it, or that I have to go on liking it at all points in time as an unthinking act of loyalty to who I am as a person, based solely on who I was as a person. To be loyal to myself is to allow myself to grow and change, and challenge who I am and what I think. The only thing I am for sure is unsure, and this means I’m growing, and not stagnant or shrinking.
Jarod Kintz (via hqlines)


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