it terrifies me that i want to change my life for you.  that if you asked me to, i would in a heartbeat. i always said i wouldn’t give up my plans for love, but that’s easy to say when you’re not in love
—  the good thing is, you’ll never ask, the bad thing is, you don’t have to
I was afraid to show these teeth.
These fangs. These tearing, mutilating
things that rip through bone like it’s
only paper. I was afraid to show
that I was capable of doing the
same to you.
—  teeth // Haley Hendrick
Making Faces

I was torn from my sleep by the sound of my daughter’s screams. I rushed across the hall and saw Jessie standing in front of her bedroom window. When I wrapped my arms around her, I noticed her pajamas were soaked with sweat. The screams tapered off and gasping sobs replaced them; her tiny body heaving as it attempted to take in more air than her lungs would allow.

I picked her up and carried her into my room. We sat on the bed and I held her until she’d calmed enough for me to ask what happened. She shook her head. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Please, sweetheart – I promise it’s okay. What happened?”

Jessie’s wide, blue eyes stared into mine, still leaking away the memory of whatever trauma she’d endured. She pulled my nightgown, beckoning me to come down to her level so she could whisper something in my ear. I obliged.

“There was a big girl in my window making faces at me.”

Continue reading.

No, I am not silent,
even trapped in this cage.
I do not know why the
caged bird still sings,
but I know why I roar,
scream, with a tiger’s voice.
I may be pretty,
which is nice of you to think,
but I am a lion, a tiger,
not some domesticated cat
that is just a bit moody.
No, I am beautiful in the way
that only wild dangerous creatures
can be.
I know why I holler out,
day by day.
Do not think me tame,
even when I pace to and fro,
there is a wealth of anger here,
an old fierce anger that rails
against the ideal of a cage.
This is what makes me a force,
for even while I wait in silence,
and the caged bird sings,
I am waiting with teeth and claws,
I will not be silenced.
—  Why the Tiger Roars - CK

“What of the galaxies and souls we
cannot touch? Or the people and places
we will never reach?

Do you not wonder about everything
that could’ve happened, everything that
could’ve been but isn’t?”

“No, I do. But it doesn’t change much,
does it? Even if everything were different,
it’d be the same, a different kind of same.
But the same nonetheless, because everything
would be different.”

“So we’ll be the same?”

“You and I are constant.”



—  “2am reality checks” remnant-thoughts
i. the feeling of stillness when we wake up before dawn and the rest of the world still quietly sleeps, the trace of salt still on your lips after a swim in the ocean, two hands clasped tightly together, the fading distance between two cities, paper airplanes soaring through the wind and the faint echoes of laughter

ii. the fuzzy sound of your car radio, my two feet basking in the warm sunlight that glows on your dashboard, sinking toes into damp soil, the taste of honey on your tongue, the parts of your teeth that show when you smile, a jar of honey left out on a ledge, spinning around in circles until you fall, the sound of doors slamming in the wind, mid-October picnics and the surprise of a well thought out flower bouquet

iii. counting the freckles on the small of your back, rolling around in a field of wheat grass, the neon lights of a small town road side diner lighting up, the thing my heart did in my chest when you whispered “I love you” for the first time, withered picket fences in the middle of summer heat, and spilled cola bubbling on the sidewalk

iv. the sound of paper being crumpled, the moldy smell of day old milk, the hum of the refrigerator half past mid-night, telling ghost stories around a camp fire, loneliness personified, the sound of heavy footsteps in the attic, a collection of old ticket stubs, the sound of dozens of hands clapping all at once, starting an old car engine, and the balled up lint I found in my pocket the other day

v. rain drops falling on fresh asphalt, the feeling in my chest when you’ve been away for far too long, a pair of worn rainboots, the fog that swallows docks whole, the patter patter of rain hitting the ground, the expanse of an empty airport, feeling around for something in the dark, falling out of love and into the unknown

vi. the sound of chalk against the sidewalk, going for a walk hand in hand as the sun sets, the feeling of cotton rubbing against the small of my back, biting into sour strawberries, scraped knees, a pocketful of round candies, and a series of long hugs from a former lover
—  colors embodied by nicole moon
She was an angel, a goddess of the sky. She was fire, she was light, she was whole. He was a boy, not a monster, not the devil. Just a boy who never learned how to love. He was a boy who fell into this goddess and swallowed her whole without tasting a thing, he picked pieces of her wings out of his teeth the next morning, licked the blood off his fingertips and asked her what was for breakfast. She was a warrior but he stripped her of her armor and told her she was his, and that is what she became.
They break you and then they say sorry. When you break a glass, you don’t say sorry, you try to fix it. So, fix me. I don’t care about apologies, they’re just words shouted into the void. I need action, I need proof that I’m worth of being loved again, even when I am broken.

Loneliness is so mainstream nowadays. And I am just one of those hipsters who enjoys it. And I don’t know if I can blame the music industry for creating “love music” that contains lyrics that talks a lot about sex and drugs and more sex and they label it as “love”. And I don’t know why that gives them the right to brainwash the innocent hearts and minds of society. I really don’t know why.

Or should I blame the film industry? For making me believe that I have to be a cute guy for me to find a beautiful girl for me to be happy for the rest of my life?

Or how it teaches us to change who we really are for the person we love like how Ariel gave up on being a mermaid. Like how she gave up her real beauty just to be loved by the man who “loves” her just the way he thinks she truly is.

Or should I blame writers like me? For writing poems or novels about love that are just pure fiction. And love is non-fiction.

Yet love and fiction are two separate worlds that are so close yet are so far away from each other. And sometimes we just have to choose between love and fiction. Sometimes we just have to make a choice between love and loneliness.

Yet I don’t want to be one of those writers who writes love as pure fiction—as pure lies. 

I just want to tell the whole world the truth. 

That I just want to be extraordinary rather than mainstream. 

That I just want to be loved.

—  Love and Loneliness by Juansen Dizon
If the sky could talk it’d be my most trusted and loyal friend. Clouds don’t judge. Instead, they sit restlessly as they await the call to pour all they’ve held in, and drown those beneath them with pitiful sorrow. In their sorrow, many find gladness. The trees are quenched and wail no more. The smog is cleared as new babies are able to breathe the fresh life of new cleanness. In the sorrow of the clouds, I find peace in completely siting alone, devouring a good book as I lift my eyes to the bitter clouds, and reminisce with the sky once more.
—  Reminiscing to the sky
Melanie Garcia

It had been exceedingly windy, and even after the storm had passed the sea still seemed to be quite angry, battering the rocks and the beach with considerable vigour. But at least it had stopped raining for a while, so Algy tucked himself in flat against the rock, holding on tightly with both wings, and spent a happy hour or two just watching the waves pounding on the shore.

Need I Go On

Judging doesn’t push me off cliffs
It doesn’t give me wings either
trying to twist fate’s DNA
You, be like me if it kills you
When have we ever looked at palms
Shook heads, “Why can’t you be an oak?”
Let me be me
Exactly as I am
In this exact moment
Without apology