Sometimes you meet someone and even though you
never liked brown eyes before, their eyes are your favourite colour now
and sometimes you meet someone who can make the
sickest addictions seem beautiful and sometimes
there’s some people you’d rather sit on a couch with
and drink some gas station coffee and read your favourite
books over and over while you forget that dinners on the stove
so it gets burned but you still think it’s delicious anyway.
(Source: acutelesbian, via shelbybwown)
I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edge
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.
This is how we heal.
I will kiss you like forgiveness. You
will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. I will write novels to the scar
on your nose. I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.
And I will not be afraid
of your scars.
I know sometimes
it’s still hard to let me see you
in all your cracked perfection,
but please know:
whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.
(Source: adderalldust, via queen)
(Source: preciouspossession, via greenphosphene)
lots of times
i’ve heard about
around their lovers
but when you
right out the
(Source: memereve, via jillianbutnot)
I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world — Frank O’ Hara (Having a Coke With You)
(Source: viage, via jillianbutnot)
Here is what I know:
You drink your coffee black and we are afraid of each other.
Once you kissed my neck in front of your friends
and it made me very shy.
Once you kissed my stomach and I started crying.
I see the tender way you touch things and want to kiss your nose
but I keep my mouth to myself.
Your collarbones are craters big enough to fit my fist into.
You are the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in months.
I was not good to the last person I loved so I punished my heart
(I let it break and bleed out then roughly sewed it back together)
It is hard to write poems when I only know how to fuck you.
I am always trying. I am thinking of Somedays. I am saying goodbye.
You asked why I never write anything honest so I am writing you this. — (via clementinevonradics)
Last night I thought I kissed
the loneliness from out your belly button.
I thought I did, but later you sat up,
all bones and restless hands, and told me
there is a knot in your body that I cannot undo.
I never know what to say to these things.
“It’s okay.” “Come back to bed.”
“Please don’t go away again.”
Sometimes you are gone for days at a time
and it is all I can do not to call the police,
file a missing person’s report, even though
you are right there, still sleeping next to me
in bed. But your eyes are like an empty house
in winter: lights left on to scare away intruders.
Except in this case I am the intruder and you
are already locked up so tight that no one
could possibly jimmy their way in.
Last night I thought I gave you a reason
not to be so sad when I held your body like
a high note and we both trembled from the effort.
Some people, though, are sad against all reason,
all sensibility, all love. I know better now.
I know what to say to the things you admit to me
in the dark, all bones and restless hands.
“It’s okay.” “You can stay in bed.”
“Please come back to me again.”
She stuck a bookmark
in my heart
and walked away. — She (Saul Williams)
(Source: wordsthat-speak, via jillianbutnot)