I may be ugly and unattractive but I am still a girl. I still deserve to be given flowers and chocolates. I still deserve to be called beautiful, because I am, inside. I am still entitled to the respect that beautiful girls get from the opposite sex instead of being the subject of harsh jokes and insults. I still deserve to be written love letters, be construed as another person’s world and happiness. I still deserve to be pursued and loved. I deserve the sincerity in every word uttered, loyalty and faithfulness instead being the rebound, an option, or getting cheated on. I still deserve to be treated well, regardless of my physical appearance. Because not being born with a beautiful face and flawless skin doesn’t make me any less of a person; more so of a girl.

(via escafeism)

My therapist tapped her pen, and looked at me
with her chin in her hand, frustration filled the room.
“I think you enjoy being sad.”

There was silence for a minute or two, because
there was a small conflict in my mind, no, I don’t
enjoy this sadness. Yet it’s the only time I feel
alive, because it’s the only god damn time I feel
something. When your bones feel so heavy and
every breath you take you feel like you’re breathing
just to die, and when you need to talk to yourself for a
good 30 minutes after you wake up just to get the
motivation to move, sometimes feeling something,
a cut on the wrist, a tear on your cheek, a cry in the
middle of the night, it means more. It means that you’re
actually alive, because most the time I feel like I’m dead,
I wish I was dead. Sadness means I’m not dead.

“No, I don’t.

i.c.  //  enjoying sadness (via delicatepoetry)

i. I think the gloomy clouds and rain are more beautiful than the shining sun. I think that the sound of the sky’s tears hitting the ground is the most peaceful noise to listen to. A part of my soul feels fresh and complete when I breathe in the autumn air on an October morning. I think that the most beautiful season is the season of death, when the leaves fall down and die, when the world changes colors. Death brings new life, it makes room for more.

ii. One day I was sitting in a coffee shop and on the table was a stained circle from a mug. I stopped and traced the perfect sphere with my finger and for a moment my mind stood still. I was peaceful for a few seconds. The waiter apologized and handed me a coaster and I said it was fine, it was fine. I was fine because I had stopped thinking for a god damn second.

iii. In my grandmother’s garden there are more roses than daisies, I guess people don’t like them very much. Yet I do, because they remind me of innocence. They remind me of being a little girl and picking petals, “he loves me,” “he loves me not.” I’m happy he didn’t love me, because I don’t even love myself.

iv. To me there is something raw about sadness, something that exposes the real us. Only when we cry and scream our emotions are finally being let out of the bottle. I’ve realized that humans are most beautiful when they cry, because it’s when they’re stripped to the core. Sometimes it’s okay to find beauty in a person with a frown, not only when it’s just upside down.

v. When I see someone who wears a sweater even when it’s 90 degrees out I start to feel not so alone. I look for a chance to catch a glimpse at their wrist to see if I find the scars that look like mine. I tend to do this all the time, maybe it’s my way of reassuring myself that I am not the only one going through this, that maybe I will be okay one day. There’s a chance.

vi. I always think that when they look at you for too long, or you catch them staring at you, they’re looking at flaws. When I see him staring at my lips I wonder if there’s something in my teeth so I stop talking so much, and when he grabs my waist I’m afraid the distance between his hands will be too much of a gap for his liking. He told me that there’s beautiful girls all over the world but I’m his favorite, I still watch his eyes when a girl walks by.

vii. My mother has called me crazy too many times to count. I sometimes still sit in my room and wonder if I really am, because most the time I want to jump off a cliff and only “crazy people” do that right? At least that’s what most people say, and I heard that crazy people don’t even consider themselves crazy, so maybe I’m not? Maybe I’m just me, and there’s something wrong… with just being me..

i.c. // I read into things, too much. (via delicatepoetry)

artemisfowlstolemysoul:

Being a nice person is so fun

Waiter messes something up? You can see the relief on their faces when you don’t scream and swear at them about it

Extra tickets at an arcade/prize place? Watch a little kid’s face light up when you give them a bunch of tickets

There are too many assholes in this world. Be a nice person.

rosiebeck:

nxv:

primisthebomb:

I THREW A GRAPE IN THE AIR TO CATCH IT IN MY MOUTH BUT IT WENT TOO HIGH AND HIT THE CEILING AND THERE WAS A SPIDER THERE AND THE SPIDER FELL AND SO DID THE GRAPE AND THEY BOTH LANDED ON MY FACE AND I STILL HAVEN’T STOPPED SCREAMING

i read the first line in my head in the tune of call me maybe im so stupid

I threw a grape in the air
I went to catch it I swear
It hit a spider that fell
and now they’re on my face

If two points are destined to touch, the universe will always find a way to make the connection - even when all hope seems to be lost. Certain ties cannot be broken. They define who we are - and who we can become. Across space, across time, among paths we cannot predict - nature always finds a way.

from Touch   (via thatkindofwoman)