don't love a writer

I’m not them,” you say. “I’m not who hurt you.”
I touch your face tenderly, cupping your cheek.
“Okay. Then who are you?”
“Someone who is deeply, irrevocably in love with you. And you know what? I don’t give a shit. If you hurt me. If I hurt you. And that’s the difference, you know? Between me and them. I love you more than the fear. I’m willing to risk it. I’m willing to fucking pour my heart out to you- right here, right now, when there’s a very real chance you’ll get up and leave and never talk to me again. And maybe I’m stupid for doing this, but I can’t… I cant hold it in anymore. Every time I look at you, you grow more and more beautiful until I can hardly stand it, so fuck it. If you ruin me, if I ruin you, who the fuck cares about the consequences, about the future? Does it really matter if we both feel the same way? Fuck the idea that wreckage can’t be gorgeous. I think the treetops are grateful for the hurricane that rips off their leaves. Goodness, I think they dream about it. I think thy fucking crave it, because for a single, wind struck moment, they get one inch closer to really living. And fuck, I’ll be the leaves this time around. Do you think I care? I’d set myself on fire to see the flames that dance in your eyes. So if you love me, fuck the fear. Fuck the fear. I may not be worth everything, but damn it, I’m worth more than the pain those assholes left you with.
—  ap (12.28.16) im not who hurt you
It starts with this: want.
You want to love him.
Not need, want.
You don’t actually need any of this, didn’t ask for it, and in fact, would probably be better off without it. But you want it, want him, want love, even if its the worst thing in the world for you. And that’s how it starts.


//part 2//

And that is why we have two hands–
One, to hold the ones we love dearly. And the other one, to hold ourselves. So please do not lose yourself when you are holding onto another person. Please remember, to not let yourself go.
—  Lukas W. // Don’t lose yourself
Your imagination radiates pure magic and enchanting dreams. And this hidden world of bubbling fantasies inside your mind has planted itself inside my heart — all bold hope and sunshine infused promises. It’s an exploration in warmth, faith, and love. Oh so much love.

one thing that bugs me on jtv? the complete lack of acknowledgement of what petra’s been through. petra is an abuse survivor. the one constant presence in her life is a mother who amongst other things has threatened her, belittled her, constantly gaslights her, all for her own selfish gains. struggles through post-partum depression. discovers she has a twin- who could have become the family petra so desperately needs who drugs her, assumes her identity and tries to screw her over. watches her husband who she really does love fall in love with another woman whilst said woman is carrying the child she wanted so much. not to mention being kidnapped, suffering a late term miscarriage and feeling inferior to jane. and like? there is barely any mention of petra’s past. the only thing they bring up are her mistakes- which yes are a lot, and yes she has done some terrible things, but geez. please let petra go to therapy!!!!! please let petra be happy!!!!!!

You say you love me but when I really needed someone – you weren’t there. When everything fell apart and the world came crashing down around me, you weren’t there for me… How can you love someone and at the same time care so little?
You say you love me but what good is it? When I laugh, you’re not there to laugh with me. When I’m lonely you’re not here to keep me company, when I’m happy you’re not the reason anymore; So tell me… what good is telling someone you love them if you’re not actually loving them? Love is not held within the word itself – it is in the act of loving. It’s not something that you SAY… it’s something that you DO… Love is a very deliberate action… a consequence of something beyond all control. It is not a description, an affectionate remark or a passphrase into someone’s good books and I take great offense when it is not used in its proper context.
So don’t say ‘I love you’ if you don’t really mean it.
If you truly love someone there should be no need to say it because it should be in everything you do and everything that you are… So don’t say it ever again because I don’t want to hear it.
You say you love me… but I don’t believe you anymore.


there is the girl that
has to sow love poems in
to the bones of her palm
because she can’t
bare to look at them
with rawness.

she has bags under
the rims of her eyes
and coffee in her
blank stare. she’s
the one who destroys
her pride for a boy who
only makes her rot.
an empty vessel
waiting to be filled.

she’s the one who
herself in pride
the lovely one with a
beautiful body
and skin smooth
as licorice
and lips the color
of glazed golden.

boys will try to
force their hands
where caution tape lays
in hopes of taking her home
because her sense
of solitude is becoming
a drunk in the night.

then there will be her
the girl who travels
with mystery in her eyes.
she awakens a sense
of hope inside
broken ribs.

let her change.
let her tell the universe
inside that she is the stars
blessed queen. she is
the moonlight that walks
the earth. she is the utter
glow of all the lights in the world
lighting up in your chest.
it aches for her. just as much
as she aches for it.

—  Excerpt #224, the broken, the lustful, and the pure
You picked up the pieces of my broken heart,
And proceeded to shatter them further,
With an intent to heal,
But fingers accustomed to chaos.
—  V.B.//you didn’t mean to break my heart
She wears sunshine like a halo all over her and she has a sky of stars in her eyes. And when she gives you just a half smile, somehow you just cannot take your eyes off of her.
—  L.W. // Something lovely about her half smile
Don’t fall in love with someone like me.
I memorize words and listen to lyrics; I won’t forget what you said to me.
I write some of the most painful poetry; you’re wrong if you think I won’t connect words in order to describe you.
I don’t have a favorite song; I’ll play the one I made for you and me.
Nostalgia is innocent to me but it is painful; I hate thinking about us.
I take photos of things that made me happy; I don’t want to delete the ones of you.
I’ll tell you I’m alright and that I can handle it; oh god I want to die right now.
Don’t fall in love with someone like me.
I’m made up of too many wrong-doings and I live to find the emotions behind things. My music is too sad because my cells crave the grave feelings. I assume too much, and jump to conclusions faster than I blink. I don’t describe myself as human, because at this point I am nothing more than an organized chaos waiting to break.
So please, don’t fall in love with someone like me.
Don’t fall in love with me.
—  I can’t remember who I was. (r.n.g.)
Lately she’s quiet near people. She will talk, but not much. She will likely laugh for no apparent reason, then her eyes will get a bit teary, like she’s going to cry. Not because of the funny things she remembers, it looks like she’s laughing all of the sudden to hide the fact that she wants to cry. She feels like she can’t cry in front of them, that’s why she laughs.
—  Observation And Misconception
girl’s an american beauty with
wildfire eyes and lips like eden.
something so beautiful it’s dangerous, some kind of unnatural disaster.
girl’s got ribs like matchsticks,
like flintstones, like strike this
and everything burns.
she is a highway you want to travel
but you don’t know how.
she is some kind of hurricane
you are too afraid to touch.
you look at her and think:
there are worlds here no one
has ever discovered.
there aren’t enough words
to give a name to this.
—  american beauty // sarah kate o.