take your poet to work day

I think love needs time to grow. Maybe that’s why taking it slow is best. Because it’s supposed to capture you without you ever knowing. It’s supposed to grip you and slip into your bones in the night. One day you know. Until then, you live, and wait, work and play.
—  B. E. Barnes


You take out the trash:
Old yearbooks, journals, and your pen collection from grade school.
You grab the giant bag you packed:
Clothes, toiletries, food for the next day, a towel, medicine, your laptop.

You turn around to look at your room one last time.
You feel nothing.

In the car, you blast
The pop songs you’ve memorized
And you sing along to ensure
That you continue to feel nothing.

You had skipped the goodbyes
To make things less awkward.
You kept calling this an experiment,
But by that you meant a mission.
Like watering flowers, you thought.
Cleansing and nourishing.

You bring the last bag
Into the new apartment and unpack.

You head to the store for some noodles and pasta sauce.
You turn around to look at your place for the first of many times.
You feel something.
It hurts how dim it is.
It hurts how quiet it is.
It hurts how different it is.
The dark wooden tables instead of the white ones.
The odd lamps that don’t quite match.
The bare walls that seem even more bare than the ones you left behind.

You come back and find
A Spotify playlist of pop songs to play
While you cook. It becomes your first tradition.
You glance at your phone,
Tempted to call someone,
Though not sure of who.
You decide to take a shower and watch a movie.

You always hated that “clean slate” saying.
Slates always had chalk marks
That couldn’t be ignored.
You were watering your flowers.
Complete cleanse, of course.

But those yearbooks are still
In a dump somewhere, far
From being decomposed.
Your phone contacts show up
Every time you call the pizza place.
You can’t forget home,
But home doesn’t miss you.

Look all around you, darling.

Look at your neighbour who divorced her husband even though it’s still not accepted to do so in your middle class third world society. Look at how she steps out and goes to work and takes care of her son and her old parents all on her own.
Does she need anyone? No.

Look at that old man who’s been coming to your house for the past two days to refurbish all the furniture in your house. Look at how he travels hours across the city to reach your house, carrying his sewing machine and his foldable working table on his tiny bike. He works from 9 am to 8 pm tirelessly and only asks for a glass of water occasionally.
Does he need anyone? No.

Look at that real life story of that woman on TV who waited seventeen years for her husband to return from war. Not even knowing whether he was dead or alive, she was a prisoner of war too. And when he finally returned, he said he doesn’t love her. Look at how that small town girl learnt to stand on her own feet, be “the man of the house”.
Does she need anyone? No.

Look at that withered old lady who earns her meagre daily wages by cleaning gardens like yours. Your uncle who works half way across the world and hasn’t seen his son in 5 years. Your ex-boyfriend’s mom who has lost everyone except her son and tries her best to make life better for him. That blind man outside your college who stands outside everyday selling pens, both black and blue.
Do they need anyone? No.

Maybe these people are put all around you to teach you that all you need is yourself to fight all your wars.

But just in case, if you haven’t got that neighbour to look at, that old man, that woman on TV, that withered old lady, that uncle, that ex-boyfriend’s mom, or that blind man, then go stand in front of your mirror. Let the sunlight pour through the window and right into your eyes and watch how it changes colour. Watch how it fills with power. Watch how much strength you hold, all inside you.

So if you ever feel like running behind someone who let you go because you think you “need” them to survive, look all around you. Look in the mirror.

When all is said and done, you’re supposed to move on. You’re supposed to close the chapter on him, and take your first step on your own feet. But that’s not how it works.
You can’t move on from one day to another.
It’s not possible.

Instead, you’ll cry in your bed for weeks, and you’ll feel so alone. And you’ll blame the timing and your differences and everything that makes it a little easier not to blame yourself. But you will.
You’ll wonder if it was something you said or something you did or whether you are pretty or skinny enough. And it’s a fucking tragedy,- not knowing.

And all you can do is just too keep hurting, until one day, it may not hurt so bad anymore. Or maybe, maybe it’ll always burn, but you’ll just learn to live with the constant fire caused by the absence of him.
But you’ll always wonder why.
And that right there, my dear, that’s what’s gonna break you every single time.

—  F.F. // Thoughts after you left #5

Lightly placed on the edge of that chair your mother gave us
On our wedding day
I numbly listen
in solemn dismay
For your tyres on the drive
You paved last year.

It’s 11pm.
Let me guess:
A call from New York? Paris?
Or that girl from the Christmas party with the black dress?
Her hand gliding up your arm
your leg
On the terrace of that bar
You promised to take me.
A compromise of our life reflects in the eyes of the tight skinned girl
You finish work on time for
As once more
I sit waiting up
For you not to come home.

In darkness my red wine
Spills from the glass onto the chair
As I stare at the wall we painted as one
That Sunday in July
Before the lies started to fall and
The evening apology calls stopped.

It’s 2am
The door crawls open
I’m still in the chair
Eyes fixed on the wall
You’ll tell me it’s work
I won’t look hurt
At the lipstick on your shirt sleeve and
Together we’ll leave
Take the stairs
To the bed we still share.

You’ll get the chair.

The Poet & The Genius

I got this prompt in August and I’m so sorry I haven’t gotten around to it. I just started college and am trying to adjust. Anyways, here is the fic. All poems used is by Keaton Henson. He’s amazing and inspired me. Check him out. He feels like Spencer.

Pairings: ReaderxSpencer

Prompt: Anonymous asked: HI! Can you please write a spencer one where he falls in love with y/n who is a poet. Like he falls hard for her and he can’t concentrate, and of course she falls for him too xx

Word Count: 3,743 (I know)

Warnings: none really.

PS: I feel like a dick for taking so long to write this so if you guys like it feel free to message me and i’ll make it a series. 

Summary: You work at a coffee shop during the day and do the open mic night poetry at night. One day Spencer decides to drop in and as he’s reading and drinking coffee he hears your poem and becomes intrigued with the beautiful poet.

The coffee shop Spencer usually goes to after work or a tough case closed down last week. He did everything he could to help the owners and close friends of his but he couldn’t win. In hopes of finding a replacement he went on a walk on a late and cold October afternoon and came across a coffee shop/ book store. He didn’t have a case anytime soon and was desperate for a place to rest his mind over a good book and coffee. When he walked in he was consumed with the inviting and familiar smell of fresh brewing coffee, the quiet rumblings of customers, light conversations, pages turning, and keyboards being tapped. He looked around at the small but quaint building, the floor was rustic wood and so were the tables with mix-matched chairs, the walls covered, floor to ceiling with shelves of books old and new. He believed he found his new home. He was suddenly cut out from his trance at the sound of a voice.

“Are you here for poetry night?” A warm, feminine voice asks.

“Oh no, I’m actually just here for the coffee and books” He said half sheepishly, embarrassed he was caught in his awe of the cafe.

“Sorry, you just look like the type. Well, welcome anyways. What can I get you?” She asked kindly, smiling up at the man.

He placed his order and found a cozy booth in the back corner with a single chair across from it, it didn’t seem too packed so he decided it would be okay. He quickly got his coffee and sat down, opening parliament of fowls, yet again. He was about 300 lines in and ¾ done with his coffee when the lights dimmed and he looked up to noticed the tables in the front filled with people facing the stage which now had a mic stand and a young women standing in front of it, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

The crowd quietly whooped and cheered her on “Come on (y/n)!” “let it flow through you!” various people yelled as she calmed her breathing. Spencer may have left or even just continued reading and drinking his coffee but there was something about her. The way her chest rose and feel like the air around her was one with her, the way the light shone off her face and body. He didn’t easily notice women, not like this. His mouth opened slightly as he licked his lips and closed his book, looking at her in amazement.


You opened your eyes and looked out into the barely lit room. This was the first time you preformed this poem and the nerves got to you like when you first started poetry. You heard your friends in the audience and felt ease and calm. You breathed another deep breath as you began:

“Grow up with me.
Let’s run in fields and fear the dark together.
Fall off swings, and burn special things,
and both play outside in bad weather.

Let’s eat badly.

Let’s watch adults drink wine and laugh at their idiocy.

Let’s sit in the back of the car,

making eye contact with strangers driving past,

making them uncomfortable.

Not caring.

Not swearing.

Don’t fuck.

Let’s both reclaim our superpowers;

the ones we all have and lose with our milk teeth.

The ability not to fear social awkwardness.

To panic when locked in the cellar;

still sure there’s something down there.

And while picking from pillows each feather,

let’s both stay away from the edge of the bed,

forcing us closer together.

Let’s sit in public, with ice cream all over both our faces;

sticking our tongues out at passers by.

Let’s cry.

Let’s swim.

Let’s everything.

Let’s not find it funny lest someone falls over.

Classical music is boring.

Poetry baffles us both;

there’s nothing that’s said is what’s meant.

Plays are long, tiresome, sullen, and filled;

with hours that could be spent rolling down hills,

and grazing our knees on cement.

Let’s hear stories and both lose our innocence.

Learn about parents and forgiveness,

death and morality,

kindness and art,

thus losing both of our innocent hearts,

but at least we won’t do it apart.

Grow up with me.”

The words flowed through you as you spoke; closing and opening your eyes, feeling the adrenaline and familiar strength surge through you as you spoke your purest of words in a room full of people. As the last words left you, you opened your eyes and looked out to the crowd of familiar and friendly faces and smiled.

They cheered, clapped, snapped, and hugged you as you walked by. They were your family of poets, the best family you’ve ever had.

You walked to the counter with a smile on your face. “Hey Angie, the usual” You smiled at your friend.

“That was amazing (Y/N), really. You just get better and better. The room was electric.”

You look down and smile. “Thanks Ang.”

“Soo” she teases, as she moves behind the counter making your coffee “Who was that one about?” She asks, knowing you don’t like telling her but you laugh anyways at her persistence.

“Actually, no one in particular. Just someone I would like to know, but don’t.” You reply honestly.

She nods solemnly as she caps your coffee and hands it to you.

You look around the café and catch the eyes of a young man with mussed hair, glasses, an almost funny scarf, and what seems to be a knitted sweater and dress pants. He quickly smiles and look down. Normally you would be the one to do this to someone else and am surprised when you find yourself on the other end. He’s handsome in a very un-typical way. The kind of face you could look out for hours and never get bored. 

You chuckle at how far you let your mind wander over this complete stranger.


He watched as you spoke, saw the way your body moved with the words, the way your lips curled at your words, the sway and outreach of your hands. He found himself not being able to think anything. Not able to read you, or maybe he didn’t want to. You were a perfect mystery of magic and beauty. He was captivated by every word of your poem, feeling it run through his body, sending chills down his spine as he felt himself smile at your words.

When you finished he imagined himself walking straight up to you and professing his love for you right then. Promising to be the person to fulfill the empty places of your poem. He surprised himself at the idea, he prided himself on being rational and logical but now he found himself falling in love with a perfect stranger, as he watched you walk over to the counter. He looked at you from above the rim of his book and couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with the barista. He found himself grateful that you weren’t in love with the person of your poem.

He suddenly made eye contact and silently cursed himself for starring at you and probably making your uncomfortable. He snapped his head back down to his book. But he couldn’t focus on reading when all that was in his head was images of you.


You decide to sit at a table near him, sneaking a peak at him while you sit down with your coffee, watching as other poets went up to the mic and spoke their words. You smiled and laughed and tears welled in your eyes in all a span of 20 minutes. This is why you loved poetry. It made you feel alive, something you’d always struggled with. Poetry was your cure, even if it was only temporary.

“Excuse me?” You hear from behind you. You wouldn’t normally turn around at the sound but you felt that it was directed towards you.

You turn around to see the beautiful stranger smiling at you. You decide you should walk over to his table about 5 feet away, you don’t know what came over you but something in you wanted to be closer to him. To hear what he sounds like.

“Uh…hello. I just wanted to say, or tell you that your poem was absolutely breath-taking and beautiful.” He said, half looking down, half looking at you from above the rim of his glasses.  

“Oh wow, thank you so much…” You waited for him to say his name

“Spencer, Spencer Reid” He stood and shook your hand to which you couldn’t help but chuckle at the formality.

“That’s a great name. (Y/N) (Y/L/N). It’s nice to meet you, do you usually come here? I don’t think I’ve seen you.” You sit down, trying to read his reaction to your bold move. He just smiled and you felt a flutter in your stomach and a blush rush to your cheeks.

You just learned his name and all he did was smile and you felt the exciting kind of nerves you hadn’t felt in years.

“No, actually the place I usually go to closed down so I’m looking for a new one. And they didn’t have poetry so…it’s different but I like it.” He said as you gazed into his golden brown eyes. God he is beautiful was all you could think as you looked down at his full pink lips as they moved.

You then realized he stopped talking and was apparently waiting for you to reply, “Oh yeah, uh, this place is great. Poetry night is every Thursday and I work here as a barista every day so I’m a bit biased but it doesn’t feel so much like work” You say, looking into his eyes again that watch you carefully, like he really wants to hear what you have to say.

“Oh well then I guess I should come by more often” he said. He even seemed surprised at his own flirtation as you chuckled.

“Yeah you should. We mainly just get regulars. It’s a great atmosphere…and there is my sales pitch” You laughed nervously, finding yourself talking more about the damn place you work than yourself, not even thinking to returning his flirtation.

“Well I’m sold” He said with ease and a soft smile. You both shared a gentle laugh and the silence that followed after seemed more like a normal sort of thing than awkward.

Jesus Christ, you though to yourself. What was happening? You were completely infatuated with this man you just met and all you’ve done is talk about coffee.

“What are you reading?” You question, tilting your head to read the bind of the small book.

“Oh, Parlement of Foule” He lifts the book to your view.

“Ah, Chaucer.” You reply.

“You’re a fan?” he asks, seemingly to be genuinely intrigued.

You laugh nervously, “Well, I read it in a particularly painful lit class so the memories aren’t so fond but I do love his works, but I haven’t read that one. What is it about?” You have read it. You’ve read it about 7 times but you loved hearing him talk, loved watching him lick his lips and the way they curved when he was holding back an excited smile and the way he looked deep into your eyes with pure enjoyment as he shared his knowledge.

“Well, it’s actually one you would probably like” that made you smile “In it, Chaucer is actually talking about the poet’s feelings about art and love. He says that life is short but he finds poetry hard to learn and just reads it for his enjoyment since he cannot master it. Much like he can neither master love but he’s obsessed with it so he write love poems. Then it gets really interesting when he find an old book that he then reads all day long…”


You watched him tell you about a poem you already knew about but watching the dim lights of the room flicker across his eyes and he smiled and looked at you, you didn’t have to force the smile on your face. Making sure to nod along as he seemed to get to key points of the poem. You felt like the two of you were the only ones in the room as he leaned into you and away as he told the story you smelled him. He smelled amazing, like coffee and leather bound books.

His speech slowed as he ended his story telling and finished “and that’s really why it’s so interesting for its time and for the theme of Chaucer’s works.”

“Yeah that sounds amazing.” You say as you feel Angie walk up to your table.

“Refill?” she asks, smiling at you with a knowing look and you communicate with your eyes to stop it right now.

You feel Spencer look to you and then answer “yes please”

“Alrighty, coming right up” as she takes both of your cups and walks away.

She walks up and places your drinks down as you both thank her “Oh is that Parlement of Foule?”


“(Y/N) loves that poem!” She says eagerly but coolly as you feel your entire face become bright red and you drop your face

“Oh shit. Oh. I messed something up.” She says and quickly retreats as she mutters “sorry” over and over as she nearly runs back behind the counter

“I’m so very sorry” you say as you lift your head in embarrassment to Spencer who is chuckling at you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew the poem already” His smile was goddamn adorable as he bent his body down to be at eye level with you.

“I just…I” Were you really going to say what you wanted to?

Fuck it. It can only go up from here right, you thought to yourself.

“I just like to hear you talk” You said, forcing yourself to look at him as you did.

He seemed to be genuinely taken aback by this “Really?”

“Yeah you uh, you have a nice voice and a nice way with words.” You say, trying not to sound as shy as you felt. “Sorry, I know it was stupid of me and I’m usually not the type of person to play dumb but I-”

You nearly choked at the feeling of his hand covering yours and lightly squeezing it.

“I don’t get that often. Or, at all really” He said “thank you. I didn’t think you were playing stupid” he said

Your heart raced by the warmth of his hand on yours and the way your body lite up at his touch, and the way he kept bending his head down to make sure he looked into your eyes. You felt your breath hitch in your throat. You never felt like this. You never acted like this with someone you just met but it didn’t feel wrong. It felt far from wrong. You trusted Spencer. You didn’t know why but you did. You wanted to be in his presence so badly it hurt your bones.


He didn’t know why he felt brave enough to grab your hand

Maybe it was what you said. That you liked to hear him talk. No one ever told him that before. He knew people grew tired of his ramblings, even the team. He knew they didn’t love him any less for it but to hear you say that made his body feel alive.

He bent down to look at your beautiful eyes. You kept looking down and he wanted to make sure you knew it was okay to look up. That you should because he had never met someone so electrifying and magnetic in his life.

You wanted to kiss your soft lips that you kept biting and licking at. He wanted to be the person in your poems. You wanted to hold you for hours and hear you speak words of poetry into his ear.


You spent the next four hours talking but it felt like time stopped. You took turns looking at each other and looking away shyly as you shared your intimate passions. What kept you warm. What made you get out of bed. What you parents were like. What you hoped to be like. What you were. What you weren’t.

It was apparent neither of you ever shared this much usually but this time was different because he was Spencer Reid. He felt like home and safety. His hand moved away and back to grab you, as did yours.

Your conversation halted as Angie approached the table again. As she did you both looked around to see the café was empty and it was eleven o’clock at night.

“Hey guys, sorry but we’re closing up.”

“Oh shit. Sorry Angie. I guess we lost track of time” you said as you looked over to Spencer who was watching you still.

“Guess we should get going then?” You asked.

“Guess we should. Thank you so much, it was great” he said towards Angie who smiled back and returned to closing

You both grabbed your stuff and said goodbye to her as you walked out into the chilly October evening and you immediately started shaking.

“Oh here” He said, taking his coat and putting it around you. As he did you were consumed by the smell of him, warm and cozy.

“Thank you” you smile up at him, realizing how tall he was and how beautiful his stature was for the first time. “Do you live around here?” you hoped the answer was yes so you could go together.

“Uh yeah actually, off Manderly and 8th” He replied, looking in the direction.

“Oh, I live off Main and 3rd” they were in the same direction but about 20 minutes apart. It was far from a small town so it was unlikely you would’ve ran into each other any other time. You liked to think you would remember a face like his though.

“Well, do you need a ride? I would hate for you to have to walk in this weather” You offer, hoping he takes it.

“If you’re sure. I’m used to walking or taking the metro so I don’t mind.” he said

“Oh, absolutely, my car’s this way” you motion in for him to follow you as you hastily jump in the car in hopes to warm it up as quickly as possible.

“Whew” you say and shiver as the heat begins to go through the car.

You pull out of the parking lot and head toward his place first, you play the CD you have, Dear by Keaton Henson. “Hope you like it. I have a tendency to play the same music over and over again till I burn out on it but this album never does.” You say, turning down a street. His presence in your car makes you extremely aware of your body.  

“It sounds beautiful. I’m more of a fan of classical myself” He says, teasing you because of the line in your poem ‘classical music is boring’.

You look over to his mischievous smile and burst out laughing “Oh god, really? I’m so sorry.” You say, trying to be serious but his laughter makes you laugh even harder.

“No, it’s perfectly okay. It’s not for everyone” he says through his laughter

“Oh no. I was apologizing that you actually like classical music” You tease as you look over to him. You both erupt into laughter again.

Shortly, you arrive at his apartment and you pull to the curb and get out to give him his jacket.

“Thank you” you say as you hand it to him.

“No problem (y/n)” your name on his lips drove you crazy

You both smile in the silence that falls over the two of you.

You walk to the door you stare up at him as he looks down at you, you feel your bodies enclose the space as you tug your head towards his. His hand slipped around your waist and pulled you against the warmth of his body. He placed both hands on your face as he gently kissed your lips and you felt it in your knees.

You stringed your hands to the back of his neck and twisted your fingers into his hair like you’d been imagining all night. You both pulled at each other, desperate to be close.

He pulled away and rested his head against yours and breathed a smile and you followed, out of breath.

“The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne, Thassay so hard, so sharp the conquering, The dredful Ioy, that alwey slit so yerne, Al this mene I by love…” Spencer spoke the poem into the crook of your need, sending your stomach spinning and heart fluttering. 
You breathed out pushing your cheek against his soft and structured face, turning your head to lay a kiss on his check and jaw. 

“Goodnight Spencer Reid.” You say, forcing yourself to remove your hands from his body as you walk down the steps of the stoop of his apartment.

“Goodnight” you hear him nearly whisper as you got into your car and he turned into his apartment.

You felt like you were inside once a poem you read about and scoffed at, cynical of love but now you weren’t so sure. Now the poems that spoke of a love so deep and consuming reminded you of Spencer’s smile, the warmth of his hand, the taste of his lips.

You were whole.

2 / 16 / 17

Take your wings off, Icarus,
boy child,
     you don’t know where you’re going yet.
I know your fate
     and she isn’t kind,
so tread carefully
speak softly
take your hands from your father’s work
    he means only well.
Listen to him
when he tells you to fly the middle course
     high you fall,
     low you sink
sodden with sea spray or brittle in the sun,
     take heed of your father’s words
and of mine -
     we mean only well.

Weather In You

Beautiful brown-eyed girl.

Your curls have a mind of its own.

Taking on the imagination of vines, as they work their way around

There will come a day were the fear of love will be passed among bodies.

Please don’t be afraid. There will come a day when our egos will play, double-dutching our way to happiness.

When our bones intertwine and become one and with time our love letters will spell out I o u eternity.

If we believe in true love why do we assume love is a game. Breaking down our souls, capturing our past thoughts in boxes.

I pray that we love enough to leave those past thoughts some wiggle room.

Those lonely thoughts exposed to light that will soak up the sun.

With our fingers laced so tightly.

We will feel the breeze not knowing it as the breeze.

We will feel the rain not knowing it as the rain.

We will feel the sun not knowing it as the sun.

The breeze becomes soft whisper we share during movies and dark nights.

The rain becomes the tenderness of the tears that drop doing joyous moments.

The sun becomes your smiles as it brightens my face.

Time will eventually be at a stand still.

Eternity doesn’t seem that far away.

Our bodies breaking down in the best way.

We’ve become dust dancing through the wind.

Dancing through cities on adventures waiting for the moment the breeze,rain and sun all become one.

Everlasting within the weather.

I was never one of those people that wished they could take everything back, and start over. I always believed that it was better to accept your failures, learn from them, and work to mend things. However, lately I’ve realized that others can’t do the same. A lot of people in this world can’t accept their failures, which means thy won’t ever move on. I guess I’ve been surround by those people for a while now, so some days I find myself wishing I could take it all back and start over.
—  pen-to-paper-bmThen one who let it go

To the woman who raised me:

Are you happy now? 
Is that what all this pain
That you have caused
Has accomplished? 
After taking my heart
Into your hands,
Digging your nails into the flesh,
Watching the blood run
Down your arm,
Did you finally feel satisfaction? 

Was it worth the loss of a child?

Seventeen years. 
It took me seventeen years
To get away from you. 
Most teenagers are eager 
To get away from their parents. 
They always come back though. 

After I left
I did not shed a single tear for you. 
I could breathe again. 
I could feel again. 
I could finally hear my own thoughts. 
The screams that filled my eardrums
Every day since I was born,
The ones that haunted my dreams
Haunted my thoughts,
You will never be good enough,
You are a disappointment, 
Good for nothing daughter,
You will obey! 
They haunted me 
No longer. 

But the silence
Could never last. 
You would never allow that. 
Here we are, 
Almost a year later,
And you still are obsessed
With destroying me.
You still use me,
You still use my siblings
As tools, 
To try and get revenge 
On a man
For a marriage that could only end. 

You took your babies,
Brainwashed them
To the point of self-hatred. 
You called your abuse 
“Motherly love," 
Turned a father into a devil
Turned a daughter into a demon,
Using only the power of the poison 
On your tongue. 
You scream at anyone 
Close enough to listen, 
You tell them I destroyed a family. 

You were the one who set the fire. 
I only ran from the flames.

—  T.N.B (via ofangelsandrainstorms)
It’s not the end of the world. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Your life is not over because of one grade or one late assignment or one bad semester. Take study breaks. Remember a failing grade doesn’t mean you’re a failure. Remember that regardless of the work you put in, you may not always succeed. Take a deep breath. Try again.
—  day 41, a message for my freshman self

we were taking a healthy break from our classes because our brains weren’t working for the moment. we lounged against your car and i said: okay, so young love.

you laughed and stared at the sky and said “well aren’t teens just emotionless robots who whine all day”

and i said; well, i try to whine all day but when would i do my homework

you got real quiet just then and cracked your knuckles and kept watching the clouds and you said “one time i was in an elevator that dropped two stories and while we were all fine that was the moment i realized i would never get her out of me because for all of those seconds where i thought i was dying all i could think was that i’d never have another chance to see her smile and truth be told i think young love is crashing through to the basement and sometimes thinking that maybe you should apply the brakes but knowing - i mean knowing - you’d rather feel this alive than keep being safe.

—  inkskinned
I promise to love you more and more
With every breath that I take.
I promise to take your heart,
And hold it safe in my chest,
And I promise to give you mine in return.
I promise to hold your hand
When we are together,
Even when I’m upset with you
Because no matter what,
I want you to know
That I will never stop caring about you.
I promise to give you all of me
For the rest of my life
And I promise that every day,
I will chose to make us a priority
And actively work
To make sure you feel needed and important. To put it simply,
I promise to love you.
Forever and always.
—  T.N.B. (via ofangelsandrainstorms)
As you fall into another day of the same routine, you’ll take a shower, shave your legs, dry your hair and paint your face. You’ll wash with strawberry soap to make you smell better. You’ll shave with expensive razors because the cheap ones don’t work. You’ll dry your hair until it’s so frizzy you have to straighten it. You’ll put on make up because society says that you’re not pretty without it. Then you’ll kiss the mirror, live through the day, and drift off to sleep. And as you fall into another day of the same routine, you’ll wonder why you even care, pretend that you don’t, and then do all those things over again. And as you clear the bathroom mirror of the steam from the shower, all that’s looking back at you is the red lipstick from the day before.
—  I Hope I Never Have a Daughter: Reason #46, © 2016 Sarah Marie Pardy

I heal from those wounds
a bit more every day.
I’m getting over you
in my own, backwards way.

When I see you again
and the daylight strikes your face
my heart will no longer say
“My darling friend,
no one could take your place.”

Board by board,
I’m taking apart the bridge
I worked so hard for.

—  You chose her, that’s fine. Now I’m not yours, and you’re not mine.
December 21, 2015
The day you ended things on me , I took a long road back home and I looked at the sky it was orange and some shade of pink brighter than the day , I thought atleast one thing is bright then I saw a bunch of pups rolling in the mud that made me smile , you see you didn’t take my smile away , then I stopped by the cafe had a sip of coffee it still lingers in my mouth rather than your kisses and then I got back home and thought everything seems to be alright but my heart , it’s broken , then I heard a clock ticking as if saying time will take care of it