i am extraordinary at searching but that seems to be all i’ve been doing
for as long as i can remember
although i always find what i’m looking for,
i can’t help but wonder how people get what they desire with no thought at all.
(Source: toujiii, via damnstraightjkimqueer)
trembling to blue floors
cold beneath sweater clad bookbags, limbs
to tight chest, in the way once more
rattled screams muffle comprehension
tense verbal apprehension
never earning invitation
opening and nothing received
fighting fingers from breaking barriers
solitude. silence. solitude.
silence.
(via p0kesnap)
If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t know why I am alive.
sometimes i notice
the flakes of mascara on
my cheeks, and i tend
to overlook my
smeared cat eyeliner, so i
find myself wishing
for a friend who will
look out for me like you would
have, before you left
i wish i could say
i press my breasts to
my chest every
time i look in the
mirror, but i don’t, and i
know that’s what makes this
so hard for me. i
feel invalid and i
cannot find someone
to relate to. i’m
sure there are people out there,
but where are they all?
i held myself for forever
the soft touch of hands that had never strayed
organic feeling of keeping to yourself
whispering and kissing the hands that caressed me when i needed it most
chills up my arms and spine, throughout my face, although still hot with tears
shushing and rocking me back and forth
telling me i’m beautiful and that i’m alright, it’s alright.
fingers over damaged legs and wet skin burning and sweet palms smoothing
“you’re okay” and i can feel your smile
i refrain from gasping for air because i always stop caring how many breaths i take.
stinging eyes close and leaning into someone well intentioned would be nice.
today feels like Will. the weather reminds me of summer mornings when we were in love. i smell like long walks around town and sunburns and kisses. walks to the orchard and wishing he would hold my hand. getting coffees and wishing he could stay on sundays. crying all night, and sometimes waking up with him there, so close to where i needed him to be. crawling on the floor and leaning my head on his shoulder until i was ready to talk. tiptoeing by him or rolling over in bed, pretending i’m asleep and wishing i was home. eating too many hot pockets and smiling and leaning on him and listening to music. passionate sex in warm rooms with no tears and believing he loves me. the way he held my waist when he finally had me and the way he spoke to me like he didn’t care for anything else. crying in his arms more than once and him never letting go. taking me out on the balcony and calling me “baby,” like the san francisco air made him feel more at home.
(via mush-roomz)
