I fall in love
with the sea
even if I knew
it can drown me,
and I have more
love for you,
even if I knew
that it is
terrifying,
too.
—  ma.c.a // Island of Feelings
And there was nothing poetic about wanting to kill myself and writing so many suicide notes in my head explaining how sorry I was for the things I did not become. There was nothing poetic and beautiful about crying myself to sleep every night for the past 5 years hoping someone would care enough to save me. No one saved me. No one was going to save me because there is nothing poetic about thinking you can’t be saved. There is nothing poetic about staring at a blank wall for an entire day or smiling and laughing the next and having people think “oh she’s fine.” There was nothing poetic and beautiful about trying to take my own life. There is nothing poetic and beautiful about my mother having a panic attack every time I have a bad day and lock my door. There is nothing poetic and beautiful about me not taking my pills because I don’t know who I am without this sadness. There is nothing poetic and beautiful about having depression and wishing you were dead. There was nothing poetic and beautiful about my depression or anyone else’s depression nor will there ever be anything beautiful and poetic about it.
—  Fuck anyone that says it’s beautiful//Deeply Feeling Series
It’s a tragically beautiful thing, don’t you think,
to have somebody to miss.
—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write, 61
“Cross country”
I wish someone would’ve just sat me down, five years ago, ten years ago even, and told me how much growing up would feel like digging my soul out of my body by teaspoons and burying it.
—  from an unfinished story #810
Ella es una auténtica hija de puta,
pero logra sacarte las mejores risas.
 
Se muerde el labio cuando dice una grosería,
y se levanta del asiento para concederte
el mejor viaje de tu vida
hacia el camino hacia su alma.
 
¿Quién, ahora, la arreglará? Si todas las corazas están echas pedazos sobre el suelo y lo único que hace es bailar al ritmo de su tristeza.
 
Aunque no es una chica triste,
más bien es una chica de puntos intermedios,
de medias tintas,
de corazones rotos,
de balazos guardados
y abrazos enterrados
en sus costillas.
 
Es una auténtica hija de puta, sí,
pero te invita a bailar cada noche,
te sirve una copa desde lo más alto de su mundo
y grita que está irremediablemente perdida.
 
Cierra los ojos cuando ve el golpe venir
y los abre cuando el dolor ya está hecho.
 
¿Quién la salvará de sí misma?
¿Quién le dirá ven, te pienso quitar el frío
a besos?
¿Quién la convertirá en poesía
una noche,
tras la cual,
te ha roto algo más que el corazón?
 
Ama tan fuerte
que es capaz de romperte todas las ventanas
por las cuales miras el paisaje
minutos antes de mirar solamente desastre.
 
Es un hermoso desastre,
en el cual pueden brotar amapolas
y también mala hierba.
— 

“Hermoso desastre“, Benjamín Griss

Oftentimes, we speak of words we are dying to hear from those we truly love, in hopes they will return the very same words back to us.
Music so loud
I can’t hear my thoughts,
art so bright
I forget your face.
—  // 15 words poem
j.d.m.

What do I do with these feelings?
These newspaper clippings
These reports, so fucking
statistical
“22 killed, 59 injured”
They don’t add in the words “human lives”
They don’t add in the words “affliction”
22 human lives lost, 59 humans bleeding,
Thousands reeling from trauma
and millions
terrified
that they’re next, another concert
another play, another
place they just wanted to smile

I’m
so fucking sorry
that one idea,
one extremist turned into
teenagers, who were waiting
for their chance to turn this around,
Crying as their best friend
lay unmoving on the ground
in what was supposed to be
the happiest moment
of their finite little 17 years of life


You didn’t deserve this
You deserved
the excitement of your first paycheck
the sorrow of lost love
that vacation in the Maldives you always wanted
You didn’t deserve
to be a liar when you told your mother you’d be home for dinner tomorrow

—  you are more than another incident to add to the list
//
bluestruckholly
Somehow in the oddest way, we are all waiting whether it is for something or someone. We wait even when we know the fact that they may not come back. We hopelessly wait.
—  Lukas W. // We wait
And I wish you would just tell me how you feel instead of me trying to figure it out because I don’t know what to think when one night we’re talking until 3 am and the next night you’re ignoring my calls. I don’t know what to think when one day you tell me everything will be alright and I’ll be ok and the next day you tell me to leave you alone. I don’t know what to think when you tell me you’ll always be here for me but when I need you, you disappear I don’t know what to think when it comes to you because one minute you’re here and the next minute you’re gone
—  Just tell me how you feel