long poem

“I love you.” she said. “I love you that it was the hardest for me to let you walk away so easily. I don’t want to see your back against me and I can’t pretend that it’s alright with me. To hear you said the words which sound like my worst nightmare and seems to threaten my world. I don’t want to listen as those will crush every part of my being to pieces. Words are never enough to describe how much it hurts. I love you, that even if it will take time for me to accept the truth, I will still do the thing that’ll make you happy. Just like what I’ve promised from the very start.” she breathed so hard and stared at his eyes. She looked at her world as she cried silently. She touched his cheek with her hand and put her forehead on his. She closed her eyes and for a moment, all of their precious memories came crashing back. And like diamonds, she buried them deep down and hope that no one will see it except for her. As she opened her eyes, she said the last words she thought she will never say, “I am letting you go. Yet I will never say goodbye. Because I still believe that, someday, we will meet again. And I hope, that maybe then, you’ll be happier. Maybe then, I’ve moved on. Maybe then, my heart is whole again.” With that, she took a step back and turned her back on him. She started walking away and looked at the only star in the sky. She smiled, and as her tears kept on falling down, she whispered, “I love you.” Again and again until her eyes got tired of crying.
—  ma.c.a // Yes, I Do
We’re all searching for that intimate connection with someone, the timeless locking of ideals, the delicious fruits of a future as one. I trust in you to encounter it, just know…
Know that you’re not contrived from a relationship; you’re as ripe and promising as anyone you might meet. Remember to found your life upon somebody who helps you blossom, not somebody to plant each of your seeds. For you are a unique investment, an art form and your roots are as individual as your fingerprints. Why let somebody else reap all of your harvest? Why, when as equals, you could grow twice as much? // A.S
—  You can be yourself and still be loved. Don’t change.
Rain Clouds

If I lay upon rain clouds,

Will they carry me back

And call a wind,

To turn into a hurricane?

To finally crash upon your dry

And heated land,

Fallen hard, to barren drought?

Rain me into your outstretched arms.

You are desert-like,

Face upturned

As, finally,

I plummet upon you.

okay so

you know how on desktop if you’re writing a textpost and press enter it does

this? yep that space ^^ between the paragraphs that isn’t there when you press enter on tumblr mobile?

if you press shift + enter you get
is it just me being incredibly slow
everyone else is unaware of this too?
this shit right here is EXTREMELY useful for writing poetry
poetry doesn’t need them double spaces turning your half-page long poem into an endless monstrosity and making your followers’ fingers fall off from all that scrolling

you’re welcome

ps: if you press alt when answering asks tHE BUTTONS CHANGE

(I know most likely everyone knows all this and I’m just being super slow so posting this just in case and also that shift-enter thing blew my mind today and I’m kinda mad @ tumblr for not explaining its basic and v useful features)

On our first date, I told you I was flighty. Impatient. Easily bored.
I don’t paint my nails because I can never sit still long enough
for even one coat to dry. I don’t fold my laundry because I hate the routine. I would rather buy new cutlery than wash my old ones.
Maybe I’m lazy. Maybe I have no motivation. Maybe I’m just looking for somebody to grab my shoulders and give me a shake and explain what normal is and why I should do it. But sometimes I brush my teeth for seven minutes straight because it just feels right. Some nights
I put my pillow on the opposite end of the bed because I’m still hopeful that I’ll wake up differently if I sleep differently. I never do.
Sometimes I forget that I’m reading in the middle of flipping a page,
instead struck by the thought we would rather make paper than oxygen, would rather have one less life-source than one less novel. I wonder about priorities. I wonder about people who think it’s necessary to match their socks when they leave the house every morning as if that’s what determines their character. I wonder about people who carry around purses that contain nothing but gum. I wonder about people who spend all their hours at a desk and then return to their house to pass the night alone in a cold bed with a frozen dinner. I wonder if they think that money will make them happier than other humans. I don’t like kissing when I have lipstick on, because I’m afraid of leaving a stain on a cheek, as if I’m marking my territory somewhere I don’t belong, as if I’m trespassing on camera. I stay up for twenty hours a day and spend the other fours hours knowing that the longest a person can stay alive without sleep is ten days. I wonder if my nervous system has begun to break down, leaving me nervous and broken along with it. I don’t understand the pills the doctors prescribed me even though they told me I was just upset over being broken up with. I told them I wasn’t upset, I was morose. I was downtrodden. I was a leaky ship; still afloat but getting lower under the weight of the water every second. I didn’t want to sink. I wanted to sail. But they didn’t tell me that the happy little green and white pills would make me plateau. On our first date, I said I felt flat. Not the kind of flat of calm water on a windless day, but the kind of flat that you associate with deflated balloons. All out of air or out of breath or struggling to find any words left. I felt like the kind of flat that musicians hate. That I hate and I can’t play a single instrument. On our first date, I think I told you I would understand if you didn’t stay. Nobody did and I never blamed them. I was too busy wondering about people who believed in numbers and the healing power of yoga on 3 a.m mornings and tying their shoes without kneeling down to notice when they left. I am stuck inside of a world that I don’t quite understand, with people I never seem to connect with.


He is not a fucking miracle. Stop waiting for him to happen. He is not going to change just because you write him down in poetry. Maybe he is another language you haven’t heard about, and you’ve tried to let him play on your tongue but he leaves you with un ugly scar and the taste of loneliness for you to vomit it. And maybe he loves you but he is not your fucking miracle. Do not waste your time praying to God cause he is not the lightning that will hit you in the middle of the night when you crave his hands around your hips. You want him so bad but he is not your fucking miracle.

Miracles do not happen for boys like him.

—  She Slapped Me And Said: He’s Not A Fucking Miracle by Royla Asghar

Remember the nights we used to watch tv
but not quite
with your hands on my hips
and my lips on your neck?

Remember the nights we’d go out
and you’d squeeze my hand tight
and I’d do it right back,
telling eachother “I love you”
without speaking a single word?

Remember when we’d spend the night together
and say every hour
“this is it, really,
we need to sleep”
but my god we never did?

Remember when we watched our best friends
fall out of love
and we promised
that would never be us?

Remember when we ourselves
were in love?
My god
I remember
I remember
I remember it so clearly
and my darling, can we please
just fall in love again?

—  10/21/14 (cp)

I love you, more then you know.“ he said as she was walking away.

“It took me leaving for you to admit it? It took me begging you to not forget about me, for you to finally love me? It took me crying every night because I hadn’t heard from you in months, for you to realize I was worthy of love? You don’t love me, you just want me to stay.

—  ( you just want me to stay)

Ich weiß, wie du aussiehst, aber nicht, wie es sich anfühlt, mich morgens früh umzudrehen, dich träumen zu sehen, und deinen Herzschlag zu spüren.
Ich weiß, wo du wohnst, aber nicht, wie es sich anfühlt, deine Hand in meiner zu halten, und nachts unter den Sternen durch die Straßen zu gehen.
Ich weiß, wie sich deine Stimme anhört, aber nicht, wie es sich anfühlt, neben dir zu liegen, während Regentropfen aufs Dach fallen, und du mich im Arm hältst, um mich vor der Dunkelheit zu schützen.
Ich will einfach nur bei dir sein.

Long distance is not easy.

It is not easy to watch someone through a screen instead of your eyes tracing the curves of their face while they’re standing in front of you.

It’s not easy to have a bad day and not be able to see one of the only people that can make it better. For something exciting to happen and not be able to celebrate about it that night.

To not be able to have brunch on Sunday morning, or make dinner plans for when you get off work, or snuggle up together on the couch for one of the nights a tv show comes on that you both love.

Sometimes you miss them so much and it’s like you can’t get relief from it. Sure, you plan times to see each other but some nights are bad and you need them right now and you need to touch them or you’ll die and your heart has never felt so lonely.

Long distance is not easy but one day it will be worth it. One day you’ll live in a cute apartment together where you can wake up next to each other and fuck each other to sleep and a see you later means see you tonight when we get off and it’s time for dinner. Long distance is a choice. It’s a commitment to say, “I love you more than all of the distance between us.”

—  you will always be worth it

She always sees the best in people. You could leave her a billion times but she’d remember the two times you stayed for her. You could tell her a thousand mean things but she’d remember the one time you called her beautiful. You could never be there for her, but she’d always be there for you.

All she ever wanted was for you to love her, but all you did was hurt her. Yet, she’d never not be there for you.

—  (She’s always saw the best in you)
I look at him and think–
we were young and I was so in love with you.
I imagine this as a conversation we will have
two decades from now, in some
clandestine grocery store
three states over.
I’ll say,
do you remember the days when we wanted to kiss
just a little bit more than we wanted to die?
He’ll smile. He’ll say,
do you remember the days when we wanted to die
just a little bit more than we wanted
to be together?