I fished this poem out of the drain,
and forgot to clean up the mess before you came home.
You don’t say anything about the ghosts in the
corner of the room or the tree branches I hang
like a chandelier over my bed to remind me
that I am not the only one who has lost parts of herself.
If there is another name for being loved like this
then I haven’t learned it yet.
If there is another name for being forgiven like this,
then it must be yours.
This isn’t supposed to be an apology,
but I am sorry most days anyway.
Sorry about the holes in my bones.
Sorry about the guns I keep loaded,
just in case something haunted still lives in a closet somewhere.
Sorry about the well I almost drowned in,
Sorry I’m always chasing dreams down the wrong rabbit holes.
Sorry I keep shrinking myself down.
If there is something else you wanted to hear from me,
then I am sorry about that, too.
I am constantly making apologies,
but you’re never one of them.
What I mean to say,
is I love you even on the days
I don’t know what love is.
Even on the days I am sure
it doesn’t belong with me.

Y.Z, Wishful thinking (via rustyvoices)
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  • 17 hours ago
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…a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only

Edgar Allan Poe, “Dreamland”  (via wordsnquotes)
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  • 3 days ago
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I won’t promise
you’ll never go hungry
or that you won’t be sad
on this gutted

but I can show you
enough to love
to break your heart

Diane di Prima, “Song for Baby-O, Unborn” (via dolorimeter)
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After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security,
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans,
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure…
That you really are strong,
And you really do have worth.
And you learn and learn…
With every goodbye you learn.

Veronica Shoffstall, “Comes the Dawn” (via larmoyante)
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  • 3 days ago
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There’s a responsibility in being a person. It’s more than just taking up space where air would be.

John Steinbeck (via setbabiesonfire)
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  • 3 days ago
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The survival happens slowly.

We forgive the oceans
for bringing us here,
and we forgive ourselves
for eroding and
leaving our own bodies
when we thought no one else
wanted them.
We turn the shipwrecks
into lessons instead of mistakes, and we move on like rivers
chasing something better.

We keep the dreams bigger than our failures.
We keep the dreams bigger
than what we lost along the way.
And we keep going
until the wars inside of us
turn into quiet ghosts
that don’t know how
to haunt us anymore.

Y.Z, message in a bottle (via rustyvoices)
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  • 3 days ago
  • 1219

One day we’ll both
forget the storms we danced through.
You’ll find a nice girl
to fall into peace with
and you’ll forget about the days
we lost our minds together.
I’ll be across the world
and still know the exact moment
it happens.
I’ll pretend that I don’t
and I’ll forget you
the way I forget every dream
I’m not brave enough for.
I’ll meet someone who reminds
me of the years I gave my best
to a boy who held me like he meant it.
And I want you to know that it
could have been you.
That it almost was you,
but we didn’t know how to be good for each other
and how to stay that way.
In another world, it is you,
and we’re better for it.
I hope you know that I wanted that.
That a part of me always will.

Y.Z, sinking ships and ghost town islands (via rustyvoices)
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  • 3 days ago
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It’s two years later,
and you’re two years gone,
but I still miss you like
I miss all my ghosts.
On Sundays,
I dance with my mistakes
until they stop stepping on my feet,
and I call myself brave so many times
I almost believe it’s my name.
I bury my failures
graveyards away from here,
but somehow you still show up at my door.
I have a growing pile of letters
that the mailman handed me by accident.
Letters that showed up on the wrong
and didn’t know any better.
The worst parts of me want to keep them.
The better parts of me walk them to the houses they belong to,
and I swear I see you through the aching windows
every time.

Y.Z, unopened (via rustyvoices)
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All cruel people describe themselves as paragons of frankness.

Tennessee Williams (via theremina)
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  • 5 days ago
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I am a lover without a lover. I am lovely and lonely and I belong deeply to myself.

Warsan Shire (via larmoyante)
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