just tell me: was any of it real? was it real when we were both sitting in the back of the car and you inched your hand over to cover mine in the dark and we laced fingers and didn’t talk and just sat there in the streetlights listening to soft rock, was it real three months later when you kissed me and trembled hard and held my face in your palms and looked into my eyes and said, “i’ve waited to do that for way too long”

when did it stop? was it slowly or just all at once? later when we’d be talking about our secrets, did you wish i’d just shut up? when did kissing me start to mean that you’d have to get drunk? was it during one of the nights i broke down hard or was it just that one day my body didn’t quite do it for you anymore?

did it hurt. did you try to get it back. was there ever a point that you wanted me again but knew that it was gonna be different, was it the difference that scared you? was it me? did you just watch our forever become nothing? did you look down at your hands and realize they ached for another horizon, another moon, another person’s road to skim along the guardrails of. did you wait to tell me because you didn’t want the tears or because the tears were going to be too much effort to pretend to care about. did you chase our love when it ran for you? or were you the one to open the door and ask it to leave the room?

just tell me. when did “i love you” stop being true?

—  how long have you been playing along // r.i.d

To the girl who wears flowers in her hair to distract from the dark in her eyes
To the boy who’s always sad and doesn’t know why
To the ones who cry themselves to sleep at night

I promise you’re not alone

To the girl who sleeps around with anyone so that she can feel like something
To the boy with scars up his arms screaming that he’s nothing
To the ones who try so hard to be worth loving

I promise you’re more than you could ever know

To the girl who can’t leave her bed and her mom calls lazy
To the boy who drinks every night until the room is hazy
To the ones who have everyone believe that they’re crazy

I promise you’re not just skin and bones

To the girl with mascara-stained pillows wishing that she could forget
To the boy who finds release at the end of a cigarette
To the ones who live their whole lives filled with regret

I promise someone will guide you home

Just know you’re not alone

—  just-another—daydreamer
I know just how heavy the words “I’m in love with you” are. I did not unload them onto you because I wanted to hear you say it back, I unloaded them because it was too much to keep carrying inside of me. It was too much to keep hiding that feeling between my bones and inside of my heart. I am in love with you, and I know those words have been thrown around for centuries and written down an endless amount of times and translated into so many different languages but I am in love with you. And I know forever is a lot to promise to someone, and it is not guaranteed, but I want to spend my forever with you. I don’t know what is going to happen in the future but right here, right now, I want you to know I want to be with you forever, however long that is. I look into your eyes and I can already see my future. I taste years and years of happiness on your tongue. I feel a life worth living when I’m touching your skin.
—  m.o.w, I’m in love with you
I will not lie and tell you that I am all better—because I’m not. There are still days my veins scream to be unzipped; there are still days I look in the mirror with disgust. My hands still tremble, my voice still quivers, and I am still frightened by many mundane things, like speaking to people. However, I am learning to be proud of myself. I am starting to apologize to both my body, and myself. I am taking a stand and taking back my life. My illness will not—cannot—control me anymore. I am not all better; I am not even close. There aren’t even any good days, rather “not-so-bad” days, but that’s okay. Yes, I am still learning, but that means I am growing.
—  "Growth" by (DS)
Tell me when your hands start reaching for her throat instead of her clothes. 
Tell me when ‘baby’ turns to ‘bitch’ on the tip of your tongue. 
Tell me when goosebumps disappear with your touch, when you start making her skin crawl. 
Tell me when you forget how to love her softly, 
when you don’t remember how to say her name without spitting,
when you don’t know how to hold her without breaking her.
Tell me when you lose yourself to the monster,
so I can tell her what no one ever told me to do:
—  Tell Me by Auriel Haack

today i spilled coffee like i spill ink: all over the soft parts of my body. lately, everything is soft, so everything hurts when i touch it. he asks me, “are you mad at me?” and i wonder about the moon and if she’d be mad too. he has wide eyes and a devil’s ability to lie.

i say, “yeah,” but i really mean “no.”  i really mean, “you hurt me so bad i can’t shake it off”. i really mean, “i want you to pull me into your arms and kiss me until the crows are as jealous of our lips as we are of their wings.” i really mean, “yes, absolutely.” 

He was the kind of boy you fall in love with, you don’t know how exactly, or what the string of events were that led up to it// one day, he’s looking at you and soon enough you’re stumbling over cracks in the pavement when he smiles// and checking your phone countless times until his name lights up the screen//He’s like the Sunday newspaper and tea, hazel eyes and daydreams//you’ll never get sick of him//and God that terrifies you but you’ll do it anyway.
—  Fall in love with someone who leaves goosebumps on your skin for months, and kisses your forehead at eight in the morning, not a boy who leaves passionate kisses for goodbyes.
It must be the way the light catches her hair, or the way her smile is the only thing you can see.
Sometimes, when you stare at her for too long, something inside you burns up.
You do not know if you will regret it later, but at the moment, you want nothing but to look at her until the universe ceases to be.
Somehow you know, the world will only end when she lets it.
There are specks of brimstone caught in her teeth, she is all scorched knuckles, her hair contains hints of ash.
When you say her name, you think phoenix.
She is where your every day starts, where your every day ends.
You are not ready to let her go.
You never will be.
—  Sun Girl
You should never learn
to get used to the cold
under your skin
because that’s just
admitting to the world
that you let winter win
and that your heart will no
longer see the light of day.
Realize that even if your
bones are shaking and
your blood is freezing,
the sun is always out,
you just gotta keep on
walking towards 
that horizon.
—  I’m writing inspirational poems in hopes of finding my horizon