— Robert Penn Warren (via poetry-and-insomnia)
Haha my step mom wants the land that is all supposed to go to my sister and I and she’s going to get it because my dad is stupid.
*whispers* hey i’ve got a cool shovel that would compliment her face really well. we can bury her in the land afterwards. and dance on her grave.
Jealousy is a mixture of other emotions, in my opinion. It’s like a smoothie of insecurity, distrust, and a lot of other feelings toward someone or something. And it tastes like tons of built up shaken cans of soda sitting in your heart ready to explode.
— A kind friend
When you burn the bridge that leads to me,
smell the smoke and tell me if it reminds you of my dark hair,
roast a marshmallow and be sure to tell your mother it never tasted
as bitter as you thought I did, watch the blaze burn and feel the kisses I
tried to leave stained on your cheek, warm your hands and admit to your
father that I caused too much trouble for my own good like he already knew,
shiver under your clothes and fucking tell me I was good for something
even if it was when I was about to go out, look up at the night sky and
know it was our temporary forever that’s being sent to the stars,
back away slowly and forget how it all fell apart way before you took
a hammer to it,
stare watch look closely
please don’t forget how I lit up your world,
even if it was when I was burning.
1. I’m worried no one is really listening, even when I’m screaming.
They just nod and nod and it isn’t getting through their glacier
thick skulls that I’ve messed up too much to fix the stains I wear.
2. The fight, the struggle, the battles, the wars, the broken skin
and bruised knees, punctured lungs from sharp words, and dropped
hearts shattered on our rib cages like wounded animals. What if it’s
all for nothing?
3. I look in the mirror and I’m worried this is all I’ll ever be,
a girl with thick hair and even thicker skin, brown eyes that
are synonymous to dirt, and fingernails that are fighting to
drag someone down with them.
4. I’m a ball of rage, a screaming storm, a fists-bawled type
of gal. I am a fire, a wildfire eating trees for breakfast only kissing
what I’ve never loved. But where does a fire go
when it’s burnt out?
5. They don’t tell you that Superman destroyed the city
saving people. They also never say how to pluck the sadness out
of your body like a flower without taking your bones with it. They
haven’t told me how to smile without picking
out the cavity-filled “I’m Sorry“‘s to all of the people I’ve tried
saving but couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t. And I’m worried
I’ll never know.