quietlyaligned reblogged
there is an empty room somewhere that needs me
at some point i chose to exist loudly and honestly and it has been sort of revolutionary. i didn’t silence my story. i used my voice and i spoke up. removed the shame and shifted my narrative. i gave myself permission to stand tall in my truth without guilt
is it easier to pretend that i am a bad person to justify the pain that you are causing me
quietlyaligned reblogged
“you could be in love and not be together and i think that’s the saddest thing ever.”
— sometimes two souls are poisonous for each other but love each others taste. (via bubbly)
quietlyaligned reblogged
But then he will drop your body on a platter, stick a fork in you and call it love That is the only love you will receive, because all you are is a slab of meat, and meat is only for consumption, Natalia.
quietlyaligned reblogged
but would you notice
quietlyaligned reblogged
I remember there being a short period of time in which I believed that maybe things could get better. And these things became the hairline fractures in my heart. Until suddenly there were so many, that they morphed into one huge unavoidable break. There were so many moments in which I was alone with her; evenings where I wandered into the void of her darkness with a lantern fathomed out of a desperate need to understand why.
“What the hell is happening?”
I hid the quivers in my voice, and the shutter in my ribcage in order to make her believe that I would be okay holding the weight of her existence. I became her confidante. And that evening she handed me her baby girl. Swaddled in a towel, and wriggling in the wake of the passage between her arms and mine. I gazed upon her and saw nothing but a blank face. How could something so small weigh so much? Bent over on the stairs with my mother, and a baby, I met the man who killed us. His hand outstretched like a snake in a garden, clenching my neck until my eyes bursted out of their sockets. I cried for my mother to save me, but her eyes became dark pits in the middle of her face too. She held her baby by it’s neck, and neither I, nor it, knew how to cry. The baby dropped from her hand like a wine glass, and shattered into a thousand shimmering pieces. The man was gone, but the seam where my mothers spine should be, began splitting in a perfect line right down the middle of her back. Bent over on the stairs, I watched her turn into a yellow tinge. I saw the black on the tops of her teeth, and the bruises on her legs. I saw her lose and gain weight like an unexplainable tide, bellowing at the moon like a wolf in the middle of the night. She wept like the rain outside of my window, and the same fear that I felt in the wake of summer sirens screamed in me like a thousand questions unanswered. I remember when she told me that God would save her. I remember when she asked me to pack up all of the alcohol in the house like a box in the garage would be enough to keep her away. It wasn’t. Like asking her daughter to bury a gun in the backyard, only to come home one day and find that she had dug it up and blown her brains out on the kitchen floor.
quietlyaligned reblogged
tell me you’ll remember me
quietlyaligned reblogged
when I was sixteen I used to whisper over the phone, “I don’t get angry”.
Today I drove down argyle forest
looping around morning commutes
and late night walks
from different lifetimes
Wells Road
Where I was 17
And thought I knew what it meant to go to work.
Riverside
Where I was 18
And thought I knew what it meant to get lost.
That’s where it cuts off
When I cut down
And cut out
I sat on the edge of the passengers seat and
Sketched the skyline
But by the time I got a building out on paper
We had already moved
And my drawing
Wasn’t true anymore
Not that it was
True to begin with
Like maybe the only
True things I know
Are things that are already over.
“Drive by here again in two years” he said to me.
“You won’t even recognize this whole stretch, the current landscape replaced with silver beams in beaming light.”
Drive by here again
in two minutes, I think to myself.
And I already won’t recognize it
Because it is already not mine
Because I am already forgetting
What I am already not even sure I ever knew
quietlyaligned reblogged
Blast of Silence (Allen Baron, 1961)
I let you hurt me. Scrub my skin with broken glass. That should be enough. What the fuck else do you want from me? What the fuck else is there left for me to give?
voicemail-60.m4a
Nothing feels important but everything feels urgent. Something is missing here. In the car, in the bedroom, under my fingernails. I arch my back and bite my lip against the hallowness and taste fucking blood. I want to be wild, ugly, and undeniable. The world owes me that. Give me a city that I can destroy. Give me a lover that I can burn. Let me hold a heart in my hands and break it. They all know it is there, my aching rage. It’s why he knows I won’t let him kiss me. I hold him farther than arms length. I hold the loneliness inside of me when it wants to pour itself out of my throat. I want to spill out I want to spill out I want to spill out. At the very least, I want you to stop wanting anything from me.
reflection
my pain is still valid without the presence of outward symptoms i am not required to be visibly hurting in order to be legitimately hurting i do not need to prove the validity of my pain to anyone i do not need to prove the validity of my pain to myself i am allowed to heal i am allowed to handle it in the only way i know how to i am going to move past this i will move past it
quietlyaligned reblogged
“I was quiet; but I was not blind.”
— Jane Austen (via naturaekos)
Source: naturaekos
quietlyaligned reblogged
