He sees her again on a December night. The soft light of street lamps and chistmas lights makes everything look slightly vague, the trees, the buildings - the people. Their faces are all blurred around the edges. But hers isn’t.
Her cheeks are flushed from the cold and her eyes are glowing - those brilliant eyes of hers that once made him feel things he’d never felt before and were the perfect place to get lost in. She doesn’t notice him at first. Her arm is slung around her friend’s shoulder and she’s laughing, loud and over the top and exaggerated, not caring what anyone nearby thinks. Like she used to laugh with him. But then her gaze locks on his and he thinks how idiotic he must look: standing on the corner of the street, staring at her as though she’s the brightest star in the sky, letting other people shove past him and shoot him glares for standing in their paths.
But she is the brightest thing to look at. She is and she always was and he didn’t see it before and he let her go, he let her slip through his fingers when he should have held on, when he should have fought for her to stay. Now all he can do is stare, stare at her smile and her messy hair and the way the corner of her lips turn up when she nods at him. All he can do is commit the sight of her being so happy to memory and to hold on to it. To accept that he’ll never get more than this again, randomly running into her and being glad that she noticed him. Being glad that she found a way to laugh without him. Because it’s all his fault. He let her get away. More than once he let her go when he should have been her reason to stay.
—  The one that got away

i know i’m supposed to educate, educate, educate. that nonviolence and pleading and praying and explaining until my tongue turns numb is the face of activism as it stands. that my rage would deny my message. that lashing out would invalidate my pain. that if i step out of line those who “would have” listened are suddenly against me. 

“congrats,” he says on facebook, “i was an ally. i see now that gay people are just as awful as everyone said. hope you burn in hell.” 

he’s replying to a comment that said “straight people are crazy”. 

we kneel, we’re disrespectful. we rally, we’re rioting. we speak out and we’re sent death threats. it’s very tiring to always have to be quiet. it’s very tiring when they like you being quiet, because it makes it easy for you to be ignored. i’m just a voice on the internet, what do i know about anything? just the other day a man sent me a message telling me i was “a bullying selfish bitch”. i mean a personal direct message that was hostile and invasive. 

that’s the thing. i’m supposed to turn the other cheek. that i take literal violence against me and my kind and make the best of it. please don’t hit me. please don’t kill me. if i shout you down, i’m asking for it. i don’t know. i’ve been abused before. maybe that’s why it’s not unfamiliar as an idea. the fist comes down if i ask too loudly. when i’m complaining i’m whining. that the best way to my abuser’s heart is just to be good and kind and get out by living. 

the thing is that there’s no changing an abuser. they only realize they’re abusive when another person they respect tells them it’s true. my voice means nothing to them until then. i’m just tired. i’m tired of every single post begging for people to listen, and every single person who ignores it. i’m tired. i’m tired. the people who are against me aren’t here to be educated, they’re not here to debate in gentle terms, they’re here to destroy me. 

how do i get it back. how do i believe in other people again. how do i learn how to sit quietly and do my best. how do i change the minds of people who question if i’m even a person. and why is that my job. 

“male tears?” he writes, “fuck women. what have men ever done to you? i hope a man puts you in your place one day.”

look up to skies -
every 10,000 years they emerge
climbing, lithe, from the claw marks the devil
has strewn in air like petals on deathbeds

dragging tails like zippers to other worlds
mirrored like peacocks, razor sharp quills,
brains like snakes slinking across the land

- catching us unawares -
manic with laughter from mouths fresh from kills

always wondering why we stand by
as they coil around us, always
stand still and watch one after another
letting the great fragmented beast ingest
it all


It should not be altogether surprising that we have a tendency to fall for broken people, because we all have a restless desire to be special. And when the boy who loves no one loves you, how could you not be?
She is there now,
warm milk and lavender.
She moves at the right time
so she gets to taste your mouth.
In three nights I wrote out
your quiet and you knew
mine. We listened.
We didn’t leave.
But she is there now,
she keeps you in her hair.
She knows you better
than I have, or will.
So the quiet,
it turns to static and I crack
the boomerang heart.
She is gentle, and you are
being loved well, and my sky
is running out of purple.
I will leave before we are
cold and sour.
I hope she will stay with you,
if she can.
—  Alessia Di Cesare, I Still Love You, Though
we all have
a type of sadness
that’s deafening,
and so heavy
it swallows you whole.
It’s type of darkness forms
an eclipse so powerful
it drains you,
yet we find away
to keep going.
—  the resilience of the human spirit is astounding, we all have a faint yet powerful light that keeps fighting // A.H.
things that make me happy:
  • listening to my favorite song after school ends
  • starting a book and knowing it will  be great
  • taking the time to write my notes again with my favorite stationery
  • starting a new notebook with thousands of ideas
  • looking at my freshly-taken polaroid picture and seeing that it looks great
  • anticipating the release of a new book/album/video game
  • spending the weekend curled up in bed with Netflix
  • searching for new beautiful study spots
  • getting nice new messages on my blog
  • finally getting that A I worked for
  • when my new amazon delivery package arrives after weeks of waiting
  • starting a great new project or self-study course


A very late journal entry,
my heart is constantly disorganized.
I shelve some feelings for a rainy day. I do.
I tie my regrets to my favorite bag of tea,
I drink it every morning.
Poetry on my worst days.
Poetry on my empty days.
Poetry on my best days.
Poetry for you kind of days.
I spill it every damn night.
I love like an open wound, fuck the band-aids.
I love like winter, you’re dead to me,
but I still wonder.
I love like summer, these memories, dear, dear– Another lover.
I love like spring, if you choose to bloom–
pretty please, for my eyes only.
I love like autumn, red leaves; lovers– darling– they’ll change on you.


When you feel before you think,
when the sound of apologies
make for a perfect song–
those silly tears you’ll
randomly cry while driving.

Everything they claimed
that you’d never achieve.
When all you ever do is wait,
darling– this patience?

It’s not waiting. It’s hope.

We won’t always be happy.
Sometimes the darkness will feel too thick for your incandescent smile to brighten, and sometimes words like the ones I’m writing now will hardly bounce off your surface, let alone make it into your heart and mind for moments when only silence makes sense. 
Even so, we’ll always have each other, and honestly, I think that’ll be more than enough.
—  And someday, I hope you agree. // Maxwell Diawuoh, Once A Day (343/366)

i want to fall in love myself. that’s the basis of it. i want to fall in love with the way I laugh with my friends. I want to fall in love with the way i care so deeply for others. i want to fall in love with the way I give my all. I deserve love. And the love I deserve is my own. Sure. I can look in the mirror and be satisfied with what I see, with what I am. But I want to love him. I want him safe. I want him warm. I want him happy. The person I see in the mirror has been at war with himself for so long, but he’s ready to come home.

For my future sons and daughters: 

I plead that you won’t see the same as your father did, 

“please don’t make them see as much as what’s needed”. The seeds keep growing older
and I don’t want to hold her

crying, for a dying friend 

whom is ending their own

making my daughter feel guilty and alone,

and desperate to reunite in the afterlife. 

I don’t want my son 
or daughter
to feel tormented when in school, 

and I don’t want their values 
determined by “yes or no they’re cool”.
All my children shouldn’t feel belittled 
about their looks 

whilst hooking their own skin they hate 
being within.

I don’t want them to think they’re ugly 

or encounter bullies 

and develop anxieties

because as their Father,
they’re the most beautiful

to me.
God forbid 
I don’t have to bury my own kid.

I don’t want to see a child trapped in their own mind 
feeding off the selfish words that cross the line;

I don’t want harsh, cruel words to define who they are 
because to their fathers,
they’re the shining stars.
If your child’s the cruel word bearer,
then discipline them 

as a result. 

I don’t want to raise a child who’ll never be an adult.
—  Written by: @jarfidd