why is your poetry so beautiful

You love too much
Why would you let that hurt you?
You think it’s bad, to love something or someone this much?
You shouldn’t.
It takes great courage to give your heart and self that way, to put your soul into doing something that is so… selfless.
Yes, it could hurt you.
Yes, it will.
But doesn’t everything else beautiful?
You may never receive the same kind of love back,
But that’s okay,
Because it isn’t the reason you give it.
That’s why you’re indestructible.
You’re beautiful,
And you’re amazing,
And you shouldn’t beat yourself up for doing something so good.
Let loving be your strength,
Not your destruction.
And remember,
Only you are able to decide what could hurt you.
I was never in love with you;
I was in love with the idea of you.
The idea of you comforting me if I needed it, the thought of you wrapping your arms around me.
To have the memory of you calling me beautiful.
I loved you, but not for who you were…
—  a.a.
so why is it that I still ache for you? m.k.j.
On a morning stripped of
in a room unbound
by laws of time,
she wakes
unconsciously smiling.
You are the first and
only one she
she likes it just like that.
You marvel at her beauty,
while she turns around
and shoves
her body against yours
to be wrapped in waiting arms.
And you fit together gloriously,
and you wonder why you
should be so
Then you hear her morning voice,
resounding a prolonged sigh
of infatuation.
And you know you’re just two
people, utterly in love.
—  The year of the horse, by M.A. Tempels © 2017
Collateral Beauty

Mom you’re grieving me
but I’m still here.
You can grieve for your daughter,
but please celebrate your son.

We just saw the movie,
and we’re talking about it
in the car on the drive home.
You say the words,
but I don’t think
you really know what they mean,
at least not together.

You can grieve for your daughter.
Cry when I cut my hair,
complain about my clothes.
I know you see the ghost
of the femininity
I never quite fit in to.
So I understand why you weep.

But please,
celebrate for your son.
Smile when I try on my first suit,
don’t turn away when I feel elation
at the sight of my name
on a brand new Christmas stocking.

Please don’t throw away
the beauty of my becoming.


I think that when we’re born we are a puzzle of one piece, and as we grow and as we mature we develop more pieces and we first find ourselves wanting to give those pieces to other people that mean something to us. Now when that person leaves they take your puzzle piece. and, so this is why we hurt; we have an empty void and what once was a beautiful puzzle is now broken, and we go along searching for something to fill that void so we talk to the next person that we see and we get close to them and we take their puzzle piece and we put it into ours and now strangely enough it fits and you’re whole again and the process continues again and again until we’re gone; by the time we’re laying on her deathbed with our “loved ones” around us we are not even ourselves anymore but bits and pieces of anything and everything we’ve ever come in contact with, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?
—  b.w.
I wish I could make you understand
How much you’re truly worth
But I guess that’s kind of rich
Coming from a girl that’s insecure
Maybe that’s why it’s so hard for you to realise
That you have the sunlight in your eyes
That you have my heart in your hands
That you have beauty radiating through your body
That you have my oxygen in your lungs
That you are the living embodiment of perfection in my eyes
I guess I understand
How hard it is to believe my words
I don’t think I’d believe yours either
—  Just girls full of insecurities
(via. blue-skies-silver-eyes)
Being Namjoon’s Girlfriend:

Originally posted by asdfghobi

  • Late night talks - from dust particles to kitten fur and if your cat could be used as a mop
  • Intimate cuddles with you on top of him. He’d probably love stroking your hair but would be too shy for it.
  • Cute whispers in your ear about how beautiful you are and just magical poetry about how much he loves and appreciates you being in his life
  • Songs about you - Oh damn the serenading would be so on point
  • Lyrical masterpieces probably just describing your lips
  • Smoke alarm going off in the mornings because he tried to make pancakes
  • The pan caught on fire
  • Nams loving the fact that you’re patient with him while he’s completely zoned out trying to figure out why the pan caught fire in the first place
  • F. E. E. D. HiM
  • Or he will starve
  • You trying to teach him how to cut onions while he tries his best to follow you. “I can’t do this. You’re risking world peace”
  • Museum dates
  • Cafe dates - Probably take you to all the theme cafes
  • Music Festival dates
  • Probably just a walk around the city date
  • Exploration basically. 
  • Travelling the world with you. Taking you to new places, probably even somewhere near the local neighbourhood. Everything would be an exciting journey
  • Pussy Monster
  • DaddyMon - soft spanks, his deep husky voice talking dirty next to your ear while you ride him. 
  • After-sex cuddle session
  • Sending you pictures of books asking for your input and opinions
  • Long talks about philosophical topics
  • Him listening to you with a huge dorky smile, loving the fact that you’re so invested in the discussion
  • Late night, with a warm yellow light on, you snuggling in his lap while he calmly reads out the book he bought that day, practicing his English while he’s at it. (also finally stroking your hair because he’s so lost in the book and would forget shyness) 
  • Long loving stares. He’d never stop looking at you. He’d probably never stop thinking about you. All his songs and everything he’d do would be about you.
  • “Let me touch your mind, let me touch your heart, let me touch your everything.”
  • Aesthetic af couple dress code for #KimDaily 
  • Both criticising each other’s outfits
  • Movie nights where half-way through you’d start hearing snores and probably kick him to wake him up
  • He’d sputter “IM AWAKE IM AWAKE WHAT’D I MISS?” fall back asleep right after
  • “Why do you even love me? I don’t deserve you.” 
  • You reassuring him about how much you love him with hot chocolate, ryan plushie and Kanye West. Drive away his insecurity with mellow music, probably even sing for him (he’d love it even if it’s off-tune)
  • Him getting jealous that Rapmon likes you more than him “BUT HE’S MY DOG”
  • Random screaming from across the house when he’s frustrated
  • Knowing that he probably forgot to charge his phone when he doesn’t pick up your calls. And also knowing that he’s probably holed up in his studio in that case.
  • Lots of hand-holding
  • Lots of i love you’s
Already Perfect

Why are you so shy, Love? So afraid.. Did he really leave a scar upon your confidence that was so horrendous that you’ve forgotten your own self-worth? Why are you so ashamed of your own art?.. My Queen, may I pleasure you? May I fondle the beautiful body that didn’t live up to his idiotic standards? I want to lick every stretch mark that rests upon your skin. May I suck the titties that weren’t the size that he preferred? I want to gently bite the thighs that he apparently couldn’t handle. Kiss the stomach that he so neglected… I want to grip the hair that he didn’t like while I pummel the pussy he didn’t want to eat.. & I’ll make sure to kiss every inch of your divine physique. I want to look into the eyes that he made water drip from and let you know how perfect I think you are. Damn baby, you are so.. Fucking.. Gorgeous. & if he doesn’t think so then fuck him.

she’s sitting on the floor, your shirt stained with her tears as she cries onto your shoulder. “why doesn’t he love me?” she says in barely a whisper.

I don’t know, you want to scream. I don’t know why he doesn’t love you, because you are the only girl I could ever see myself loving. you are so devastatingly beautiful I notice the flowers around you die of jealousy and the wind sigh in longing. your laugh is so warm and bright and wonderful that even the sun cannot compare. you are the girl anyone would die to have, to love as their own, and so would I. but you chose the only guy that couldn’t love you like everyone else. but it’s okay, because I will always love you, and I can’t tell you why he doesn’t love you but I would unblinkingly tell you why I love you instead. would that be enough?

“I don’t know,” is all that comes from your lips.

—  bite my tongue
Do you even realize what I would do for you? I’d give up everything just to make you happy, just to hear that laugh or see your smile, because you’re happiness is my happiness.
—  Maybe This is Why Love is so Dangerous
And he’ll hold my hand and play with my hair and tell me I’m beautiful
I won’t feel pathetic because I’ll know this love is real
And we’ll kiss under the moonlight
And I’ll wonder why I ever loved you
But then I’ll realize that I only loved you because I felt bad for you too
For the way your eyes looked so sad every day
And for the way you gave away love like it was something worthless
—  bookish pleasures // him 

Releasing fragments of my mind
Inking stains between the lines
So that my damning self destruction
Seconds as poetic function

I hope you shall enjoy your stay
And then, why not, all of your days?
May my work resonate with you
How only words are able to

—  Inside I suffer in ways that I simply don’t speak of. Often I break down and hurt myself; it is a process of self destruction. The writing you read here is these negative parts of my mind staining the pages rather than my body. It’s me trying to turn ugly practices into pretty words; it is taking these horrible things that I feel and turning them into poetry. I take the words and I gift them to you and I hope you resonate with them. You don’t ever have to feel alone for you are wonderful and I am always here. // A.S
Do not fall in love with people like me.
I will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth.
I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible.
And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people.
—  Caitlyn Siehl, Literary Sexts: A Collection of Short & Sexy Love Poems

The cold crack of dawn

breaks open the room

like an egg,

with a thin rail of sunlight

coming across our bed.

I caress your back,

hoping you will turn

to look at me.

I tell you how beautiful you are,

how rare.

My head rings from drink,

and i can barely remember

our fight, but it wasn’t new,

of this I am sure.  It was you

wanting more, and me,

wanting less,

and me not knowing why

it hurt so much

to give so little.

My father left my mother

when I was eight,

and left me to decipher

the silence, and figure out

the secret code for love;

And so when you say,

you are tired of me

being so distant,,

how can I argue?

I am showing you

the empty space inside me,

the same one my father showed me,

and hoping

you will read it as love.

The other day I realized something. I realized that beauty and character are something that takes a while to find. If you have already somehow finished the journey of recognizing every aspect of yourself, and you have brought that to life, turning it into something beautiful, and you have taken all of your sharp edges and smoothed them so they no longer harmed you, then I find that very hard to believe.

 I often think to myself, “Why are you here in a room of history makers when you are nothing?” But what I keep forgetting is that masterpieces take years and centuries to complete. The pyramid of Giza took 10 years to make, the Great Wall of China took 20, and the statue of liberty took 9. But the earth beneath our feet took millions of years to become the home we inhabit today. Mountains don’t form over a lifetime, but they take centuries to reach their peaks. And the galaxy is STILL growing and will continue to grow until time and space are non-existent. Now, I don’t have that much time on this earth obviously, but I have hope that I too, will achieve my full potential one day. Things will become comfortable and still.

anonymous asked:

What's your favorite book and why?

the picture of dorian gray bc i, too, live for the aesthetic. i just love all the characters from this book and how they’re grey and flawed. the story and the aesthetic are so amazing. i just love the character of dorian gray so much and all the themes it deals with: youth, temptation, beauty, sin, poetry, life. like it’s so my aesthetic. idk i’d probably be able to argument that better sober

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ask me anything

We exchanged our least favorite words. Mine being ‘moist’ and yours 'almost.’ And when I asked you why, you said it was because almost held failed potential. That it represented our ability to be just not good enough. That we had come to the brink of something beautiful, but fell short so many times we crafted a word for it.
—  Bianca Phipps
Do not fall in love with people like me. 
I will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth.
I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people.
—  Caitlyn Siehl, Literary Sexts: A Collection of Short & Sexy Love Poems (Volume 1)

You are the epitome of the season autumn.

Your eyes hold the colors of the treetops and you are ever changing, ever so beautiful…
There is no wonder as to why people are eager to meet you.
I mean, who wouldn’t want to be drowning in a world filled with your soul?

—  Nicole Torres// excerpt #5
Don’t tell me I’m beautiful. I have already heard the word rubbed raw across the flesh of so many girls before me. Thrown at them like rocks that beat the skin of those we do not understand. “You are beautiful,” we yell with such contempt. “God dammit, why won’t you just believe me, you’re beautiful!” It is not a compliment. It is a victory march of your own self sacrifice. “You’re beautiful,” we say through gritted teeth. “You’re beautiful,” we spit out through tears, looking at a reflection we hate. “You’re beautiful,” we say, holding a body that has never felt the arms of another. “You’re beautiful.” Don’t tell me I’m beautiful. A word like that floats on the surface, give me something with depth. Tell me I’m intelligent. Tell me I’m courageous. Tell me that when I laugh the whole world smiles. Tell me that my voice is sweeter than strawberries. Remind me that my hands have helped flowers grow, painted the ocean, and captured the sky in my phone. Assure me that with a mind like mine, I can change the world. Don’t tell me I’m beautiful. I don’t really care if it’s true. I’ve spent years trying to convince myself that beauty goes through and through. Don’t tell me I’m beautiful. I’ve felt the word splatter against me enough for a lifetime. I am better than the “beautiful” that slips from your lips. I am the ocean, 36,000 feet deep. There are parts of me you have never seen. I am outer space, infinite in your search. I am not simply “beautiful.” I’m a fucking masterpiece.
—  unknown