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Southern by the grace of God

@potterhead924

I'm happy healthy and grateful. Southern till the day I die. I love music,hunting,fishing,and southern boys😉
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Promises

Men make promises the same way that children do. They will smile and you know that there is some mischief happening but, you choose to believe them because you love them. They will swear up and down and tell you the thing they know you want to hear. The problem is that, when children make promises it’s about not coloring on the walls, or eating the cookie they knew they weren’t allowed to have. When men make promises, it’s about their love for you and the fact that they won’t leave you when you need them most. The difference is, when children make promises they don’t mean, they don’t understand that it could hurt someone. When men make empty promises they know they have no intention on keeping them, they know it will hurt you more than you thought possible, and they still make them. There is only one thing worse than all of this, no matter how hard I try, I can’t help but want to believe them. 

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thethoughtfulbitch
Love, to me, is a private conversation. Love, to me, is a secret I don't tell everyone. Love, to me, is personal like pain, or poetry. Love, to me, is an expensive commodity I don't like to share. Tell me, if you had the shiniest pearl in the world, would you share it? Don't answer. I know you will lie. Just like I do. When they ask me about you. They giggle and talk, some find it curious, others outright antisocial. But I let them giggle. And talk. If it gives them joy. Because they don't know love, not the kind I experience, the kind that makes a grown man cry listening to a violin. The kind that makes priests bow down their heads in front of a stone idol. The kind that makes you content. The kind that makes you stop running. And sit down and relax. Love, to me, is a breeze on a hot summer day.

A discourse on love

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Call

Why can’t you let me sleep? I finally think I’m over you, that I can finally sleep alone and not dream of your arms around me but then you call, or text, or a memory pops up on my phone and I’m right back to where I started. Singing the sad songs that I did when you first decided that you weren’t interested. I can’t go past your street without imagining the bed that I spent so many nights on. I hear songs on the radio and go back to us dancing all night. When I can sleep I go back to those dreams where we just talk about nothing. I miss you, I miss your arms, your lips, your love. But right now I miss sleep.

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Differences

Guys like you don’t date girls like me. I’m the one that is supposed to be here when the girls that you do date wreck your life. Im the one you call at three AM when you need someone to come and cuddle with “just because we’re such good friends” guys like you are heartbreakers and girls like me are heartbroken. Guys like you can have everything they want and girls like me take what we can get. Guys like you look at girls like me and all you see is someone to play with the leave. But I’m tired of being a girl like me and you being a guy like you. I want to be me. I want to be loved, held, comforted, and most importantly seen not for what I look like but how I act, how I think, and how I look at other people. Wouldn’t it be great if in this world there were no guys like you and girls like me? But that will never happen because you are a guy like you... I’m just a girl like me.

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Little Red

Red Riding Hood fell in love with the Big Bad Wolf for the same reason that she was once scared of him. 

The teeth that she once feared now nipped at her neck and made her feel things that she never knew were possible. 

The eyes that were once huge and empty now looked at her soul and could see everything that she had always tried to hide. 

The ears that he used to prey on her now listen to her woes and cries. They hear at night when she is screaming in her sleep from monsters that don’t come close to the one in bed next to her. 

Little Red Riding Hood fell in love with the Big Bad Wolf because he protects her from the monsters that haunt her nightmares. 

He might be a monster but after living in this world, she has met far to many of those to count. 

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Brown eyes

I always thought my eyes were my best feature, but that didn’t mean I liked them. I always wished that they were something exciting, unique, or wanted. I grew up reading every love poem I could find to try and find one person who fell in love with someone with eyes as dark as the rich soil that brings forth life, but all I found were men, reciting poems of eyes as deep and blue as the ocean. Do you think that the soil compares its color to the sea and yearns to be different? I grew being sung brown eyed girl to by my father who had nothing else that talked about my “boring” eye color. Until one day you looked at me and asked “has anyone ever told you that your eyes and hair are the exact same shade?” I was hurt because I thought you meant boring, the same thing that I had thought since middle school, but, you looked at me and, with as much sencerity as I have ever heard, you said “I’ve never meant anyone whose hair and eyes matched like yours.” From then on I looked at myself differently because suddenly I was more unique than the ocean colored eyes would ever be. It was then that I decided that I would stop searching for love poems about brown eyes, and I started writing one instead.

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nothing-for-life
The reason why I’m never telling anyone anything important is because one day they decide to leave, and when that day comes, I don’t want a stranger to know all of my deepest thoughts.
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bramble-lee
“I’ve been heartbroken before,” I tell him. He nods slowly, his face solemn. He knows; he’s been the recipient of many late night phone calls where I’m crying my eyes out. “But it’s never been like this,” I whisper.

A Story a Day #11 by bramble-lee (via bramble-lee)

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sorry

Sorry is just a word that we dip in honey and wrap in lace to try and make ourselves feel better when we have to say it. 

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Bye

Leave if you don’t have a work ethic and a five year plan.

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Emptiness

Empty. The way my souls feels as I push up against you and feel your lips on mine. when I can feel your soul pulsating and breathing deep, awakening at my touch. All that I feel from me is my brain having to think about movements that once came so naturally. Move your lips, close your eyes, put on a show that no one can tell your preforming these are the things that fill my mind now. Not thoughts of a future that includes you, not my wish that your arms and smell could become a blanket that protected me from the world, nothing now except my brain making sure I’m the perfect actress and begging for an escape from the touch that I once craved. How can I tell you that these thoughts are becoming more and more prominent in the life that I lead when everyday you tell me that you are falling deeper and deeper in love with the beauty of my heartbeat and the Rhythm of my breath when you are so adamant that the only thing you are afraid is if you and I are no longer together. How can I tell you that when I am asleep and dream it’s not about a life with you, in fact it’s the opposite a life without you. How can I share all these things when I still love you to much to hurt you, to push you away. My thoughts are this selfish because I’m afraid that my lungs won’t be able to handle you not being the air that’s filled them for so long. That my heart will stop beating when it doesn’t have yours to match its pace to anymore. I am afraid. I am afraid that my very body will reject not having you wth it anymore because no matter how sure my mind is, my body is fighting it with every fiber of its being

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To the one that I woke up

It was three A.M., there was a tornado warning, and I was terrified. I called you and you spoke soothing words that calmed me down and made me forget about the storm that was right outside my window. You say that you don’t do many things well but, I can’t help but disagree.

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poeticallyemm
ache is the tune to which i sing, muffled thunder, exquisitely cast.   maybe i want to dance beneath constellations etched into angry knuckles.   maybe cool palms belong against collarbones and glass.   maybe i want to dance, rail thin, scant and vacant, still searching–   some kind of false immortality.

poeticallyordinary (via poeticallyordinary)

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badartandbadfaith

I went to high school with a kid who would only drink out of a baby bottle. He brought a large baby bottle to school every day. At first, we thought that he was using it to sneak alcohol or something, but he wasn’t. He would bring it filled with chocolate milk and then fill it up with Coca-Cola and Sprite during lunch. He’d buy a can of each and mix them together. Like I said, it was a large bottle.

I didn’t know the kid that well and I didn’t have any classes with him so I never really talked to him that much. I knew his name. His name was Kevin. Sometimes I’d see him at parties on the weekends. He still had his baby bottle. He would fill it with beer and rum.

He dated my sister’s friend, Emily, for a little while. I had known Emily for a long time. She had been a friend of my sister’s since they were five or six. They were really good friends. She spent a lot of time at our house for sleepovers and stuff. Sometimes she would pee the bed, but I never made fun of her for it. I think most older brothers would have loved the opportunity to make fun of their sister’s friend for peeing the bed and I think she really appreciated that I never mentioned it even though I definitely knew about it because after the sixth or seventh time, my parents started paying me to clean everything up instead of having to do it themselves.

I asked Emily why Kevin only ever drank out of a baby bottle and she said that she didn’t know. They had only been dating for a very short time at that point and she didn’t want to bring it up and offend him or anything. I asked her to tell me if she ever found out. They broke up right after that and I kind of forgot about it because Kevin stopped going to school. I don’t know if he transferred or dropped out, but I never saw him at lunch or any parties after that.

I hadn’t thought about him in a long time, but Emily happened to mention him while she was over at our house recently and I immediately remembered the baby bottle thing.

“Did you ever find out why he drank out of that bottle?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, he told me why,” Emily said. “He used it because he heard that babies that drink out of bottles for too long or drink sweet drinks out of them get really bad teeth problems. He wanted all of his teeth to go bad so that they would fall out and he would be able to fit a softball in his mouth. He said that he wanted to have the world record for being the first person to be able to put a whole softball in his mouth and he wouldn’t be able to do that with all of those teeth in the way.”

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pluginduck

What the fuck did I just read

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potterhead924

I don't think I've ever been so confused and still admire someone so much.