"

I’m not a huge fan of small talk. I’m bad at introductions and my tongue trips over its own feet more often than I can keep count of. I’d rather not speak because I’m bad at it. My voice quivers, I speak too fast and too quietly. The only thing I can do is write because my fingers know how to fly while my tongue is still glued to the ground.

My first psychiatrist sits me down after my second overdose and tells me, “You have a beautiful mind.” I want to tell him that it doesn’t feel beautiful from the inside. The roof is caving in, the doors are splintered, the paint job was never finished to begin with. There are cracks in the foundation and my mind was built on a fault line. Maybe, this is why I cannot stop shaking in public.

I eat every two hours. My stomach is located near my heart and between the two I’m not sure which one’s emptier. I’m not sure which one’s bigger either. They seem to both be the size of my fist but they can stretch beyond human limits. I seem to waste my time on people who don’t deserve it.

I crave physical intimacy more than love because I don’t think I have the patience for the latter. I seem to have commitment issues and sometimes I even have trouble committing to the idea of braces. The only thing I can seem to commit to my cat. I can’t stand the idea of getting close to someone and sometimes I even run away from my own family.

I’ve burnt down my body so close to the ground. I’ve spent a year trying to build something out of my own ashes. People think I’m worth loving but I’m still having trouble convincing myself that I deserve to be loved.

I think I am scared of being happy because I’m not sure how long it’s going to last. I’m learning to remember the good moments instead of focusing on the bad.

Maybe I burnt myself down just so I could get a fresh start.

"

4:58 p.m. (An Honest Poem)

Olivia suggested I write my own “honest poem” in response to Rudy Francisco’s "My Honest Poem"

(via expresswithsilence)

(via nevermoredisaster)

I’m just here 

sitting in the middle of the living room, 

getting a taste of what it means to actually live.

cause it’s starting to make me want a family-

the way they’re all sitting here, 

treating me like i’ve always been a part of them. 

there’s wine 

and chicken feet 

and watermelon 

and potato chips 

and everyone’s just talking and laughing and watching tv 

and cracking jokes at each other. 

it’s kind of getting to me. 

cause this kind of stuff just 

doesn’t happen with my real family, y’know? 

i’m learning to be happy 

but I’m still using training wheels. 

someone poured me half

a cup of wine. 

my uncle teases me for not knowing how to have a drink. 

I’m trying not to cry.

the taste of wine burns as it goes down my throat.

it goes straight to my head. 

I’m shaking and people are looking at me-

"Sorry I’m new to this," I want to say. 

they pour me more wine. 

the wine makes me warm-

and I learn that I should drink it slowly-

one sip 

at a time. 

regretandchinesefood:

All this

(Source: orangeis, via babysuccubus)

preludetowind:

"Many of my movies have strong female leads - brave, self-sufficient girls that don’t think twice about fighting for what they believe in with all their heart. They’ll need a friend, or a supporter, but never a savior. Any woman is just as capable of being a hero as any man." - Hayao Miyazaki

(Source: preludetowind, via kindaactivenot)

"Your room is not your prison. You are."

Sylvia Plath, 6 July 1953, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via insanity-and-vanity)

(Source: lifeinpoetry, via color-and-light)

"When I make him laugh, I feel like the most beautiful girl in the world."

Drew Barrymore (via elladenisovna)

(via langleav)

9 more days.