Missed opportunities will rot your mind and break your heart,
so I hope for goodness sake that you leave room for art.
Without some form of outlet, without a knot to tie,
a pillow case to scream in - you’ll search rules to defy.
It’s easy to be reckless with reckless souls unkind,
but you can break the barrier with your beautiful mind.
—  Grazia Curcuru

11 p.m. is for single mothers
who cradle a glass of wine in their fingers
and wait for the sound of a child crying
they hope will never come—
it always does.

12 a.m. is for high school students
to do homework they didn’t have time to do
after lacrosse practice and dance rehearsal—
they yearn to rest their tired eyes
but cannot.

1 a.m. is for sneaking into your bedroom
on a school night at seventeen,
reminding yourself how tired
you will be in the morning,
convincing yourself it was worth it.

2 a.m. is for star-crossed lovers
rolling in bed sheets smelling of
alcohol and tragic dreams that
ironically lull them to sleep.

3 a.m. is for hopeless romantics
wishing under late-night skies
for someone to talk to,
for someone who gets it.

And all of those people think
they’ve got it bad, but
when 4 a.m. rolls around the corner,
the past sinks into your veins—

4 a.m. is too late for anyone to save you,
for when 4 a.m. tells you,
“You can’t do this anymore,”
you believe it.

—  4 a.m.
You end up the girl who loves everyone
at arm’s length, telephone pole distance
yet atomic bomb quarantined when it came
to the boy whose ribs can enclose you as if it were home.
But you don’t want him to witness the explosion, you said.
So keep him away from this, from you and all your bits,
This half of a collarbone will never be enough of an airport
for his palms to land unto. Let’s talk about hurt
as if it were the only language we ever learned to speak
and everything else diminishes. No theories,
nor philosophies, no bible. Cancel God
as if no flesh of yours were ever made from His flesh
first, and Eve and Adam didn’t make a mistake.
They were meant to love somebody else 
because loneliness cannot be filled by another person
but a feeling instead. And you were not born
for this. For this kind of hurting and loving
you do at a distance. You were meant  for something
close. Ribcage closer, ribcage closest.
—  Close. Closer. Closest. || Kharla M. Brillo
You are not a last resort. You are not an option. And I hope you realize that anyone who doesn’t see how special you are does not deserve you. If they are struggling to figure out whether or not they should be with you because of some other person please walk away. You don’t deserve someone who treats you special only when it’s convenient. You don’t deserve someone who would treat you as if you’re a commodity. If you ever come across that kind of people please have the courage to walk away. Be with someone who wouldn’t even think twice choosing you. Someone who would always pick you as if there’s never an option to choose from.
Nothing is more reassuring
than my head on your chest,
the secret advantage of knowing
that your heart is thudding
just as hard as mine is.
—  // Those arms do not restrain me // S.K.K. // December 26, 2016 //
I will choose to let go.
I will choose to give you up.
And I am sure that it will hurt me more than it will hurt you. Yes, the hurt will remain and the memories I’ve had with you will linger for a bit. And though I’d still answer your phone calls even if I’m already asleep, I know I won’t be able to stay in the line longer than before. Because I know that before you even decide to dial my number, you called her first and it hurts that I’m no longer the first person that comes into your mind whenever you want to talk to someone. Everytime I’ll hear you say you miss me, everytime I’ll hear you say I am special, I know that in between those words, she will always be there. And I’ll remember how much it hurts. I’ll remember how painful it is to know that someone’s getting more of your attention you used to gave me. I’ll remember the days where it was just you and me, the days where she doesn’t exists in our lives, yet. Because now you already have her, now she gets to be first in everything you want to share. And even though it hurts to know that you will never be happy with me as you are with her, it’s okay. It will always be okay. Because I’ve always wanted you to be happy, and I only wanted what’s best for you. And if it’s her, clearly it’s her, it’s okay. Maybe someday I’ll find that person who would treat me the same way I treat you, someone who will always put me on top of his priorities because I have already accepted the fact that that person won’t be you. The hurt will remain but someday, I’ll forget that you were the only person I’ve always wanted to go home with.
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

But with him, it felt like everything will be okay even if it’s not. With his words, it felt like I’m always secure. Whenever I will hear his voice, and everytime I’ll browse through the pictures of him I have on my phone, I see everything I’ve ever hoped for. And it hurts, that he will never feel that way towards me.

I will never be the person he constantly misses.
I will never be the person he can’t go on a day without talking to.
I will never be the one he has to say goodnight before going to sleep.
I will never be the one he’ll be comfortable sharing anything with.
I will never be the risk that he’s willing to take.
I will never be the one he likes or the one he could possibly love.
I will never have his heart.

And I guess it’s really a hopeless case. It’s like I am the sun and he’s the sea. I will always drown with him every sunset. I will always rise with him every sunrise. But that’s all it is. We look good together but the sun can’t really touch the sea. They can never be. And I guess that’s a reminder for me, that that’s how we will always be.

We can’t.
We aren’t.
And we can never be.

I grew up being told that if you owe someone, you must pay them back.
I’m sure this was intended to inspire manners and customs. The result was not as kind as you thought this advice would make me. I understood mathematics, like basic addition - that if someone continuously did me favors, I’d owe them an increasingly larger sum. That two odds will make us even. I never let people do me favors because there’s no such thing in this world.
We treat others kindly: open doors, buy them food and gifts, take them places… all because we know that any good person will match our efforts. I’m not afraid of kindness, of generosity. I’m afraid of the things people will make me do in return for these circumstances we refer to as “favors.” I’ve paid, at least my way, for every date I’ve been on. Every gift, beyond a normal occasion to exchange, I have compensated with the price slipped into the pocket of whoever refused my payment.
It’s hard to look at a sister of mine and see how easily, how blindly she accepts the bribes of a meal in exchange for memories that may not heal. There’s a chance I'm overstepping kindness, but I cannot tolerate being used.
I grew up being told that if you owe someone, you must pay them back, and I’d much rather pay them back with the money they spent than leave my body up for grabs.
—  “Always even,” by Grazia Curcuru
I wonder if I ever make God roll His eyes
because of all the time spent in my life
writing beautiful poems about men who
don’t deserve any of me or my pen.
—  // wasteful // S.K.K. // January 7, 2017 //
Trust me, you don’t wanna love me. You don’t wanna love someone who is incapable of loving you back. You don’t wanna love someone who is only gonna hurt you sometimes unintentionally but most of the times intentionally. You don’t wanna love a girl who can’t look at herself in the mirror or any reflective object. You don’t wanna love a girl who can kill the soul of a person without even flinching just because her own soul was murdered. You don’t wanna love someone who will tear you apart piece by piece with a smile on her face. You don’t wanna love someone who can’t even look anyone in the eye, who can’t have anyone look at her. You don’t wanna love someone who is always searching for ways to bring herself on the edge of life. You don’t wanna love someone who is always trying to kill herself just to feel alive. You don’t wanna love a screw up like me
—  You Don’t Wanna(My Excerpt) // JustScribbledWords
December 20th, 2016.
9:26 PM.
Today’s blizzard glows
under the soft gray
of evening.
The bare birch trees
like cotton tufts, and the city
shivers under thick sweaters.
In these moments of habitual awe
I know myself far better
than any other time.
I acquaint myself the way
everyone else must see me;
I watch myself
watch the world.
—  Schuyler Peck, December
How do you even stay for someone who is constantly leaving you?
—  s.a., of questions and the unanswered