Someone asked me how I would describe love…
Simply put I believe when you know you just know.
When you wake up and that person is your first thought before “holy shit I have to pee.”
Or you remember to actually text them when you’re drunk and on your way home.
Or it’s when you struggle with one eye closed just to send them coherent drunk texts cause they’re all that’s on your mind.
It’s when you want to defend them in every fight
Even if it’s a fight against a 200 pound bouncer who will probably throw you down the stairs if you try.
It’s 4 am mornings spent talking about her grandparents and what she did on New Years last year.
And you never remind her that you’re an hour ahead of her and the sun is already up and you have work in 2 hours.
It’s bowling a 30 with her and not even being embarrassed and laughing and kissing the whole while.
Love is wanting to see her In your clothes.
And letting her steal your clothes,
Even though clothes are your favorite thing.
Love is letting yourself cry in front of her
Even if it’s just while watching the fault in our stars.
Or every episode of Greys Anatomy.
Love is the way your stomach flipped the first time you laid in bed with her.
and the way you laid on her lap trying not to touch her too much.
while also wanting to touch her all over because she was so beautiful even in baggy sweatpants and a tshirt.
Love is the way that first night is engrained in your mind so vividly.
From how cold her apartment was and the way you sat exactly three feet from her in the living room so that her roommate would think your intentions were pure.
To the way your heart hammered so loudly each time she touched your face that you swear your insides were black and blue.
It’s her catching you staring at her every time you’re out together because God damn it if your aren’t the luckiest motherfucker alive to have that girl on your arm.
Love is something as small as a two hour subway ride to pick her up from the airport.
So she doesn’t have to navigate alone.
And seeing her around the corner and knowing it’s her just by the perpetually chipped dark nail polish on her fingernails.
It’s the way she clings to you in her sleep.
as if you’re filled with helium and could float away at any moment.
Love is “please don’t pee with me on the phone.”
“Oh my god you’re peeing with me on the phone.”
Now we pee together on the phone.
It’s knowing she likes her coffee black
But her knowing you like yours to be half milk.
Love is like that build up in a song that brings chills you can’t explain,
And it’s that smell that only she has on her breath.
Nothing can quite describe it but it cuts through alcohol and food and smoke and it just… Is.
It’s letting the pups sleep between the two of you
Even though You want her pressed firmly against you all night.
It’s knowing she hates Mexican food but she took you to get enchiladas on your first date anyway.
Love is a series of small things and it comes with knowing that not every love story starts out beautifully.
No sometimes it starts with a drunken kiss or asking her out on a napkin at a bar
(It seemed romantic at the time).
But you know fields of flowers can bloom from the ashes of forest fires.
And the world started with a bang
At least that’s what some people say.
She’s my world, so why shouldn’t we have begun with a crash?
Like the ones that halt traffic for miles,
The ones you can’t tear your eyes away from.
I’ve always been a disaster anyway but she never shielded her eyes from me.
It was seeing her look at me without flinching that made me certain.
Love is saying you’ll never ever do long distance again.
and finding yourself on flights home to see her face because miles can’t measure up to how much you miss her.
Home is where the heart is after all
And love is knowing there’s an inevitability when you fall.
Love is knowing that you’ll probably end up broken into a trillion pieces when it’s all said and done,
But as long as her fingertips craft each and every shard then it’ll still be a masterpiece.
—  The Big Bang by c.r.

issuesinaseries said:

13, 14, 15

13. one person from tumblr i’d throw off a cliff, one i’d marry and one i’d fuck.
Well I am really opposed to violence and I like all my followers I think I’ll throw myself off the cliff, I’d marry coffeepeople and drink coffee and talk about politics all the time, and I would fuck seethestarsablaze because she is super hot.

14. something i do without realising.
Bite my nails and procrastinate

15. lyrics that apply to my current situation/mood.
all the lyrics in “the worst” by jhene aiko :(

I was challenged to write a love poem to my body.
My body and I, we rarely get along.
You were the first person to call me beautiful.
The word tastes sour when I speak it to the mirror
But your mouth made it sound like trumpets
Like a declaration. Like fact, like definition.
I wear my skin like an apology.
I have many scars, like reminders of past wars worn on my arms.
but those freckles on my shoulders are a brilliant galaxy.
And You used to find constellations in my stars.
My eyes are like sawed off tree stumps- red oak with rings marking my age.
You can count my years in my eyes. I have life lines.
My nails are anxiety, my knuckles are stress.
I am a pin cushion, I am a doormat.
In the fifth grade a boy in my class started comparing all of the young girls breast sizes.
‘Becca she’s mountains, Ashley she’s hills, and you… Well you’re speedbumps.’
that was an insult back then but now I see the truth in it
These mounds on my chest merely hold me back most days
Keep me from going full speed
I never liked this body much after all
It’s a poorly constructed carcass moving about this world
Half heartedly assimilating into society the way I was taught
The way you’re raised to smile and say thank you even when your grandmother gifts you a sweater dress when you’re 20 years old
And you’ve worn nothing but men’s clothes for years but you can’t refuse her Christmas gift
Until she hands you a bag containing leggings and you give your mother a pleading look of ‘help me’
That’s how I feel walking around in this body
Like I’m politely nodding along and someone will one day look into my eyes and think
There’s someone trapped In there
Someone trapped behind hunched shoulders and awkward body language
Someone wanting to be heard
You were the first person to help me accept myself
And you left when I finally found the courage to stand up straight and stop hiding my face
Like you’d created a monster that you couldn’t stand to look at anymore
But that was a moment of realization I couldn’t have had any other way so I owe you some thanks.
I guess This isn’t much of a love poem
Maybe me and my body aren’t quite in love yet- so that letter will have to come at a later date
But for now I will write to my body and say I’m sorry for the wrongdoings of the past
I’m sorry other people made you feel like you weren’t enough
And I’m sorry I allowed those people to determine your worth.
Above all else I’m sorry that I made you feel like you needed to make yourself small and unnoticeable to the world around you.
Im sorry for everything I forced upon you.
Dear self, apologies will never be enough, but I hope that we can be friends soon
You’ve gotten me this far, and all I’ve done is fight you all the way.
This is a white flag, waving to my body.
I’m calling a truce.
—  White flag by c.r.

Had the great opportunity to do a shirt trade with @flavnt_streetwear  !! They’re an independent clothing line based out of Brooklyn, Ny. Everyone should check them out especially those who particularly favor the lgbtq, androgynous kind of clothing! Great work @seethestarsablaze & @courtney__25 you’re both incredibly talented not to mention inspiring. Once business picks up I’ll be buying some merch :) follow them!!! @flavnt_streetwear @flavnt_streetwear @flavnt_streetwear #clothingline #eastcoast #androgynous #clothingbrand

You could never go more than a few weeks without changing your hair color when you were mine. But since you left your hair is that natural shade of nutty brown that I always favored. Your greatest fear was being deemed insane, you said “there’s no coming back from that.” But your favorite phrase of adoration was “I love you, crazy.” You wouldn’t eat meat off the bone, unless I picked it off for you. The way you picked me apart when you left had a similar feel. You’ve moved twice already since you walked out our door. It’s like you can’t settle on a home, because like you always told me, home wasn’t a place to you, it was a person. I’ll never forgive you for the promises you broke. The dishes we bought together shattered when I moved to my parents house. I wanted to carve you a jackolantern last October. Churchyards remind me of that fall. I never liked winter much, except when I held your hand. I’m learning to keep my hands in my pockets when I shiver now. I can’t sleep on one side of the bed since you’d always make me trade night to night. I’ve settled on sleeping crossways on my own. I always hated that you left clean laundry on the floor. I’ve taken to doing that since you left… it feels like you’re still here when I step over clothes in dark.
—  2:14 am by c.r.

"If you’re ever lucky enough to find a girl who is a hopeless romantic with a dirty mind, you should hold onto that. Because she’ll be yours at two in the morning and at two in the afternoon the following day. She’ll kiss you where it hurts and until it hurts. And that’s important. Someone who not only knows how to turn you on but also knows how to treat you right is someone worth a little something…"

Unknown (via stevenbong)

(Source: the-taintedtruth, via seethestarsablaze)

I do not understand why any person would love me.
How anyone could.
No, my face is carved with frown lines so deep I swear you can see the white of my skull.
And I wake up with bitterness toward the sun for shining so bright before I get my morning cup of coffee.
I am by no means a morning person.
I’ve never been one to watch the news because the ticking facts at the bottom give me anxiety.
Like the ceiling fan gives me anxiety.
And placing pizza orders over the phone gives me anxiety.
And messy piles of laundry on the floor give me anxiety.
And the blood pressure cuff at the doctor gives me anxiety.
And counting money gives me anxiety.
The list goes on and on.
My mother threatened to medicate me once,
Threatened is the right word, she told me I was ‘unbearable to be around.’
You shrink into yourself when people around you say they cannot bear you.
An ex girlfriend told me once I was a disease.
I immediately wondered- well what kind?
Am I Ebola that savagely destroys your insides in a mutinous haste?
Am I an immune deficiency found too late that withers you away?
Am I a mental illness that can be sated with drugs and therapy sessions?
Am I something you’re born with or was I transmitted someway?
You see, when someone calls you a disease you should probably object.
Be offended or taken aback.
But someone like me, I began to diagnose myself.
I will eat my way into your heart and bore holes into you that you’ll never fill.
I will ruin your favorite song and quote your favorite movie til you have to smash the DVD into a hundred sharp pieces.
You’ll never see another striped vneck at the mall without thinking of me.
Or a documentary on Netflix without thinking about that time I watched a documentary on meth and could talk about nothing else for weeks.
No, you’ll never enjoy a museum without wondering which surrealist is my favorite.
And you’ll never watch basketball again without remembering every game I made you suffer through.
No, I’m surely a disease the way I invade every cell of your body.
Certainly I’m cancer then, something that creeps its way in.
and you can only hope for remission.
when people look at you proudly one day and say, ‘you’re so strong, you made it.’
You’ll think back on me and merely reply,
‘Thank god I survived.’
—  Survivor by c.r.

this hate that took me years
to let go
has found its way in
and made itself home.

when i feel this way i fill my head
with the work of other poets.
i read the words and feelings of someone else
and hope they’ll
negate,
accompany,
befriend
my own ghosts.

in their words i find comfort
in the mutual heartache.
in our adoration of a woman’s lips.
in the way we both lust after
somebody’s hips.

others possess much more
eloquence than i
can muster,
and it seems every poet is in love
with someone
or something.

i pity them for
their thoughts must be
cluttered
like mine.

i lie awake at night.
i miss writing letters.
we bought dishes
together.
i don’t remember
the last time i went to church.
and i’ve never said
a prayer.
there is no autumn
in texas.
just a slight change
in weather.
i am longing
to see leaves change.
because change
is not easy.
not for me.

and so we write.

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