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@maxine0222-blog

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bl-letters-i-never-sent-deactiv
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promisesofamazing
And I tried. I tried to be beautiful in a way that caught you off guard. I tried to be smart without having to use a calculator. I tried to be funny without having to think of some stupid joke to say. I tried to be sexually experienced for you. I tried to have all my shit together. I tried to figure what I wanted in life. I tried everything just so you could look at me the way I look at you. I tried to be something that wasn’t me and even when I tried all theses things it still wasn’t enough to make you look at me. It still wasn’t enough to make you want me. It still wasn’t enough to make you love me. Never again will I ever be something other than myself for a guy. Never again will I betray the body I was given. The home that I hated for so many years and treated like shit. Never again will I put a mans needs before me because really men ain’t shit. They do not home a person for 9 months just to go through extraordinary measures to bring that tiny human into the world safely. They do not bleed for a week and have extreme pain just because they aren’t pregnant. Women do not open their hearts and hips and birth a child when it feels like every bone in their body breaking and more just so a man can decide if she’s the one he wants for the week. My point is, do not ever settle for a man that does not see you as magic and more. Women are not ordinary. We did not give birth to civilization just so we could be treated like shit.

You not wanting me was the beginning of me wanting myself. // love, heartbreak & everything in between. (via promisesofamazing)

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poeticsuggestion
sometimes i remember the way it felt when i thought you didn’t want me anymore and it breaks me up inside all over again. i still feel it during the most unexpected times, you know. it hits me like a goddamn bus, and i have to remind myself that yes, i AM important to you. that yes, you do want me around. i know when you met me all i did was hurt. i still hurt. i’m sorry about that, i wish i could change it. i wish i could erase who i am (how this illness eats away at my heart) or what has been done to me–so i could become a clean slate for you. at times i wake up in the middle of the night convinced that i am searingly alone. the pain burns in my chest, the heat of it reducing me to ash. i wake up and i panic, i panic i panic i panic i wake up and i feel like the world has ended, it has collapsed down around me and all that’s left is me laying here in the dark. i can feel my heartbeat in my throat, my heartbeat in my throat. i wish i could become someone unafraid. someone who doesn’t choke on fear and vibrates with tension at the slightest thing, a voice raised or sullen silence, a too-quick movement. finding reasons to worry when nothing is wrong, taking silence for disinterest and disinterest for disdain. oh god, i wish i could become someone who is whole and unbroken. not damaged goods. not hauling trauma around like a ball and chain, or a worn suitcase filled with little reminders that yes, i am still a person because look here, this is the copy of fried green tomatoes you gave me that i read through the night, and here is that flower crown i always wear when i need to feel your strength. here is a stack of letters i began writing when we were eighteen and now it takes an entire box to carry them around, and did you ever see my love growing beyond this worn little suitcase? i sure didn’t. sometimes i worry it’s not even real because it’s so much bigger than anything i’ve ever experienced. and do you see these shiny rocks? this boy loves glittery things; he keeps his treasures in old dog eared paperbacks and well-loved stuffed animals with drooping ears, missing eyes and sweet smiles. in little pouches full of coins from twenty different countries and his grandfather’s pressed handkerchiefs. my ma always said ‘well-loved’ is a better word than ragged, it made things sound okay for a little while (even through the sound of yelling and cracked plates smashing into walls). and my hands are shaking, my hands are shaking, my hands my well loved hands; my heart shaking.

BPD, or: Mother, I may be ragged but sometimes I am not sure I’m well loved at all. (via poeticsuggestion)

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wreakedhavok
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hipstered

i hope my bestfriend meets a boy who loves her as much as i love her because sometimes i think she forgets how well she should be treated

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wreakedhavok

shout out to the girls that hate their bodies but are trying really really hard to find the beauty and comfort in them because that shit is hard and takes a lot of time and is emotionally exhausting. i’m proud of y’all.

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