Little Honesties

i'm much more honest when i write. i'm self-destructive and this is something better to do with my hands. (all numbered posts written by me.)

#260

When I was little my mother warned me not to change in front of the open window because someone could see. What she failed to mention is by someone, she meant somemen. 

I spent two different nights pinned underneath someman with his hand on my mouth and the other down my pants while I squirmed and fought against. I spent one month sleeping on the floor, unable to get into my bed and three years before I could feel someone else’s skin.

In kindergarten, when the little boy from down the street kissed me after we climbed trees and built forts, his mother laughed and said “boys will be boys.” 

But the thing is: these boys will become men and they will (still) take what they want; no one has ever told them they can’t have it, just that some girls are a challenge.

These men will age to well past your father’s and think that they know better and touch you (without your permission) and push you till you’re uncomfortable and convince you that you’re the one responsible for them not listening. These men will search you out and find you even though you’ve never told them how; they’ll be there and nothing feels safe.

My skin stopped protecting me the moment my body was used as a weapon.

You must learn her.

You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.

You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.

And, this is how you keep her.

—Junot Diaz- This is How you Lose Her (via sonicetomeetyou)

(via mooneyedandglowing)

What doesn’t kill you
leaves scars
ruins your lungs
dries out all your tears
leaves you lying awake at 4 in the morning
wishing you weren’t alive.

c.c.  (via isology)

(via wings-of-tin)

I had to spit your name out of my mouth
because it stood on the backs of my teeth
and I kept cutting my tongue on it.

My poems for you came out in some weird hue
I’ve never seen before with
undertones of desperation.
I’m tired of it.

—3:58 p.m. (I’m going to stop writing about you)

(Source: expresswithsilence, via caffeinatedcorner)

I try to speak in only
declarative sentences.
I will get up.
I will breathe.
I will move on.
But I can’t help but
lay on your side of our bed
and stare at the wall for an hour.
Maybe if I ignore
the aching whole in my stomach
long enough
you’ll climb back into my arms.
I will wait.

Michelle K., Declarative Sentences. (via michellekpoems)

(via reisball)

#252

suddenly, that tiny version of myself
that lives inside my heart
took note from the spot she’s been occupying
got up and walked over to the door with your name on it
and leaned full-force against it.

this will not open. you will stay put.

#251
I thought I loved you,
And then you left.

That’s when I knew.

What I’ve Learned:
1. A girl can lose feelings for you over night.
2. A kiss can be just that, a kiss. Completely meaningless.
3. Love can be one sided but I still wonder if that is love at all
4. Never beg for someone to stay or to love you. You shouldn’t have to beg for someone to be a part of your life or to love you. You deserve better than that.
5. Stop breaking your ribs to make space for those who do not belong there.
6. Learning to breathe again is harder than the doctors said it would be.
7. I don’t know what hurts more at night; being alone or being in love.
8. Laying with someone in bed at night is temporary. It won’t get rid of the lonely. You will still wake up and leave in the morning with a heavy heart and no hand to hold.
9. Sometimes the sky rains gasoline instead of water and you have to be strong enough and ignore the urge to set yourself on fire.
10. I will be okay someday. Bad things happen for no reason sometimes and things end but that shouldn’t mean you should come to an end too. The ocean will always have waves; I just have to learn to swim through them for a bit longer.
11. The stretch marks I left on my mother from birth will not be another suicide letter I never finished.

—Oliver Nolau (via oliverwr)

(via brooklynwaste)