hkjhkjhkjhkjhkjhkjhbjkhkjjkhk Mistakes were made
/page/2

You Were Cool

I hope you love your life
Like I love mine
I hope the painful memories only flex their power over you a little of the time
We held onto hope of better days coming
And when we did we were right
I hope the people who did you wrong
Have
Trouble sleeping at night

The Mess Inside

We went to New York City in September
Took the train out of Manhattan to the Grand Army stop
Found that bench we sat together on a thousand years ago
When I felt such love for you I thought my heart was gonna pop
But I wanted you
To love me like you used to do

Adderal

Makes me wonder how much students “pay” to make an A per assignment.

We were the one thing in the galaxy God didn’t have his eyes on

i-think2write:

GOOD BYE GABY

I think of you so often you have no idea.
– James Joyce, Ulysses  (via versteur)

(Source: observando, via joyfulgirlss)

A poem in which I don’t compare
you to anything.
In which you are not an
elevator that I got stuck on,
or a train that never left,
but no more than a person.
No less than a person.

Today, you are not a mistake
or a rip in my tights or a lesson.
Today, I take myself home and undo,
undress, unlearn.
I take myself home and
write a poem about my skin
for the third time in a row and
then wash myself in it until
I’m clean and new.

A poem for the first full month
that didn’t hear the ache
of your name,
and for every month after.
A poem in which I am singular.
A poem in which I am more than
the people who never wanted me,
and I know this.

Caitlyn Siehl, Singular (via alonesomes)

(via joyfulgirlss)


David Lynch while filming The Elephant Man (1980)

David Lynch while filming The Elephant Man (1980)

(Source: pickledelephant, via l0st-palaces)

Oh my god
Oh
My
God
Oh my
Fuck

You Were Cool

I hope you love your life
Like I love mine
I hope the painful memories only flex their power over you a little of the time
We held onto hope of better days coming
And when we did we were right
I hope the people who did you wrong
Have
Trouble sleeping at night

The Mess Inside

We went to New York City in September
Took the train out of Manhattan to the Grand Army stop
Found that bench we sat together on a thousand years ago
When I felt such love for you I thought my heart was gonna pop
But I wanted you
To love me like you used to do

Adderal

Makes me wonder how much students “pay” to make an A per assignment.

We were the one thing in the galaxy God didn’t have his eyes on

i-think2write:

GOOD BYE GABY

I think of you so often you have no idea.
– James Joyce, Ulysses  (via versteur)

(Source: observando, via joyfulgirlss)

A poem in which I don’t compare
you to anything.
In which you are not an
elevator that I got stuck on,
or a train that never left,
but no more than a person.
No less than a person.

Today, you are not a mistake
or a rip in my tights or a lesson.
Today, I take myself home and undo,
undress, unlearn.
I take myself home and
write a poem about my skin
for the third time in a row and
then wash myself in it until
I’m clean and new.

A poem for the first full month
that didn’t hear the ache
of your name,
and for every month after.
A poem in which I am singular.
A poem in which I am more than
the people who never wanted me,
and I know this.

Caitlyn Siehl, Singular (via alonesomes)

(via joyfulgirlss)


David Lynch while filming The Elephant Man (1980)

David Lynch while filming The Elephant Man (1980)

(Source: pickledelephant, via l0st-palaces)

Oh my god
Oh
My
God
Oh my
Fuck

You Were Cool
The Mess Inside
Adderal
"I think of you so often you have no idea."
"

A poem in which I don’t compare
you to anything.
In which you are not an
elevator that I got stuck on,
or a train that never left,
but no more than a person.
No less than a person.

Today, you are not a mistake
or a rip in my tights or a lesson.
Today, I take myself home and undo,
undress, unlearn.
I take myself home and
write a poem about my skin
for the third time in a row and
then wash myself in it until
I’m clean and new.

A poem for the first full month
that didn’t hear the ache
of your name,
and for every month after.
A poem in which I am singular.
A poem in which I am more than
the people who never wanted me,
and I know this.

"

About:

All of the things, good and bad, have created the person I am.

Mostly the bad.

(will you still love me in the morning?)

Following:

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