reject's corner

when my heart falters
it will be up to you to clean up my pieces 
my blood will be on your hands
and i’ll leave you
drowning in all the mistakes 
i’ve ever made

when the sun sets you’ll
see my happiness out like 
the light, and all the stars in
the sky will disappear in my loneliness
all these memories will be memorials
all this living will have been
to find a way to swim
but it all became too hard on me 

when i leave you’ll be the 
one who knows what it is like
to love a girl who doesn’t love herself

—  s.r., a girl who doesn’t love herself
And i hope that when it’s 3am and i cross your mind, you feel like you jumped off the highest building and your ribs crack from the fall. And I hope when restlessness is your only companion, you think of me. And as you think of me you realise the beauty of heartbreak, the beauty that I felt for years.
And I hope you fall into piles of regrets and break the spine you never had, and I hope you rummage through your closet looking for pieces of me when someone asks how I’m doing. And I hope you find my first hand written letter to you and you get poisoned with the sweetness and genuineness of the words. And i hope your wounds remain raw long enough for you to realise, to never break another heart, to never betray another love. And I hope that you stare into your reflection in the mirror and you see a tear streaking down your cheek. And I hope that your inflated pride shatters from the weariness of your soul and I hope that the next person that comes to your life, keeps you in your place, unlike me. I hope she doesn’t make the same mistakes that I did.
—  i wish you hell
I cling to everything -
CDs that skip, rings that turn my fingers green,
the dead ends of my hair, old love notes
that turn my stomach over and over.
And I’m not proud but there are still boxes under my bed.
And I’m not proud but my closet is still running out of space.
And nostalgia is a fucking waste of time
but my heart is full with it.
Tell me I won’t hold this forever.
Tell me there will be a day where I let gloriously go.
—  Fortesa Latifi - Hold This
If You're Hungry Shut up And Go Get Some Food

If you’re moody
Go on a walk
Listen to some music

If you’re tired
Scream at the top of your lungs
Rub the back of your head nervously

If you’re anxious
Hyperventilate until you collapse
Then take a nap

If you’re angry
Remember why you’re angry
And whose not responsible

If you’re cold
Put on a sweater on

If you’re hot
Take your clothes off

If you’re restless
Have a seizure
Write a symphony
Start a fire

If you’re sad
Write some poetry

If you’re bitter
Add skim milk and artificial sweetener

If you’re confused
Act cool
And just pretend you know what you’re talking about

If you’re dying in a hospital
Flip off the doctor
And smile

If you’re dying in the street
Crawl into the gutter

If you’re fading away
Become the dust

If you’re frustrated
Break some glass
Pay for the damages

If you’re embarrassed
Laugh at yourself

If you’re pale
Own it

If you’re broken
We can talk all night

A woman I used to take care of would stay in her pajamas and watch Rachel Ray in the morning. English breakfast tea with just enough milk to make it light. She’d make jokes about staying dangerous when buying a spontaneous extra can of cream of mushroom soup. Some of us never lose our jokes.
My best friend closes her eyes when the summer wind runs its fingers through her hair. She inhales deep, like she’s about to dive down into the sun. It is something special to watch someone fall in love with the world.
My husband keeps an art gallery of growing greens. There are wildflowers on the windowsill and succulents by the back door. He tells me the snap peas are almost ready to harvest; that he can’t wait to show our kids how the earth works, how good things require care.
In small glimpses, I am stealing snapshots of people in their purest moments. I am pasting moments over. I am scrap-booking the good in humanity, the little visions of light, and saving it when everything else goes dark.
—  Schuyler Peck, The People I Know
We become the sunlight border
of an almost-closed window.
We become the salt sweat coming
out of the back of Eve when she gave Adam the apple.
We become the hands that hold
and the hands that don’t know how to let go,
coil wrapped around our necks, shadows behind our backs,
a silent purple fistfight on our mahogany skin and yet,
and yet, we stay at every word that hangs in the mouths
of men who love us in past tense.
We become the bottles of milk left behind the sink.
We become the roof, the walls, the soldiers
without guns, we become mothers—lungs stretching out
like a shoreline, chest becoming an ocean for two.
We become the promise that we have told ourselves
when we were little. I want to be a princess. A princess.
A princess. And then I don’t.
I am blood, marrow, bones, flesh,
breast, lips, hair. I am. I am.
I am a woman. And then We are.
We are witches and granddaughters with too
little magic but enough strength.
We are the throats that learned how not to silent.
We are the voice that learned how to make thunder out of quiet.
We bang on every door who told us we should stay inside.
We missile every country who never expected us to run a war.
—   Kharla M. Brillo | All The Women We Needed To Become

The Chinese character for fire, 火,
is so written because it resembles the shape of a flame itself. The
character for eye, 目, resembles the shape of an eye. The character for door, 门, resembles the shape of a door, complete with a knocker on top. So on and so forth.

If I were to write you, you would be 关, meaning: closed. Meaning: cut, barrier. Resembling the shape of a gate. Meaning: I will never knock on your door again.

—  Venetta Octavia, “回”

stop saying you care about me when you only care about how i make you feel. after all of this, still, it’s us here, and still, all you’re worried about is you.

i never got an “are you okay?” never got a “how are you?” never got a “stay.” i only got an empty apology, a “i can’t fix this because i don’t want to think about what’s wrong” apology, a “i just want to mend my guilty conscience” apology.

stop saying you won’t hurt me when every step towards you is like walking on glass. i’m choking on your empty apologies and tasting only the leftover blood of regret. every hello runs the risk of falling through. every hello and i forget about the cracks.

i know this is wrong. every time you text me, i throw my phone against the wall until i stop smiling. love isn’t these feelings we give each other. love is a choice and you’ll never choose me.

—   note to self: give up
Moments can’t keep passing
with memories this clear.
I’ve done so little since -
has it really been a year?
I’m missing out on life,
still holding on for you,
lingering in the dark,
in the hell you put me through.
—  A Year in the Breaking // Grazia Curcuru
Fuck Milk And Honey

It’s 2017
Fuck the international space station
I’m floating to deep space
Fuck crude language
We’ll tear each other apart between the lines
Fuck art museums
My life is a living exhibit
Fuck the specifics
We’ll get by somehow, one way or another
Fuck ‘Six-Word Stories’
Take your time, express yourself
Fuck the sun
I’m working all night
Fuck whatever you think constitutes a ‘healthy life’
It’s subjective
Fuck anyone who thinks it’s okay to make fun of someone for being different
You’re more amazing then anyone could ever comprehend
Fuck the canon
I’m guessing and testing
Fuck the forecast
I’ll take it as it comes
Fuck anything that makes you feel bad for being alive
You’re trying your hardest, and we’re all so proud of you
Fuck the noise
I’m making robot sounds

I wonder how many months of crying myself to sleep will it take for me to wake up one morning and realize that I don’t deserve this, that I don’t want to love you anymore. I loved you, with everything I’ve ever had. With high hopes that maybe, it won’t turn out as another set of disconnected memories that I have to repeatedly bury every time it’ll flash right through my very eyes. But was it ever? Worthy, I mean. You, breathing someone else’s air while I’m left alone suffocated by the thoughts of you holding somebody else’s hand. You, smiling and laughing remembering her, as if my name doesn’t even pass through your head, not even for a minute. And for every single time you utter the words I love you, just because you think it’ll make me okay, little do you know it stabs my heart as I think about how good it must’ve felt when you say the exact words to her, too. And it makes me want to rip out something in my chest and take away all possible reason of what’s causing it to break into pieces. Because all the while I was starting to think that maybe, I could be your home too, that I could be that person you’ll look forward to seeing every morning. Then again, how do I expect someone to come home every morning when I’m always left alone at night? I guess I just kind of hoped too much that maybe you’d love me enough to choose me. Perhaps, I was never in your choices at all.
Please excuse my bitterness as I try to navigate through your complex signals, Its hard not knowing what you want from me. It’s only a defense mechanism to your hot and cold moments- I’m tired of burning myself everytime you seem to be warm but are spewing fire. I need to learn not to get too close to the sun…

My mind keeps hoping you’ve somehow changed but Its rejection I get met with instead.


May 30 2017

I am sick and tired of people telling me
that I need to move on
from the boy I am in love with
because I am hurting over the fact
that he doesn’t love me back,
that he is just a friend,
that I am wasting away my life,
that I am not enjoying it to the fullest,
that I am not giving myself or someone else a chance,
but how do I explain
that yes it hurts to not be loved back,
yes it hurts to just be friends
with someone you are so madly in love with
but I am not wasting away my life,
I do whatever I am supposed to do,
I do whatever I want to do,
I am not always this depressed over him,
I do have friends,
I do have a life which is boring
but at the same time exciting and good
and that trying to be good enough for him
even when I am not and won’t be
has made me a better person
—  Isn’t love about trying to be your best self for someone even when you are the only one in love, even when the love is only one person’s, even when they don’t love you back // JustScribbledWords


want to be glass. want to rupture. want to be melted snow.


am ripple of water. have crumbled. turned to slush.


my perception of self is a letter from a friend about a postcard from my mother about a drawing I made when I was five about my friend who drew my home.


I have stepped out of my body into the space between my organs.


encore. again.

—  Venetta Octavia, mind gets sick of itself
Tell me about her, because I want to know. Tell me something about the girl who’s the reason behind your short replies, the reason behind your coldness, the reason why we only talk when it’s convenient, when you feel like I’m drifting away. Tell me about the girl who makes you smile effortlessly, who makes you feel excited when she sends you a message. Does she hold you when you need it, the way I do? I wonder if you tell her about me or if you act as if I’m not here when you’re talking to her. Will you be honest enough to tell me that someone else is already making you feel different? Maybe she is. Maybe she is right in a way that I’m not and maybe she is more than enough in a way that I will never be.