booboo
lowkey a fool
“i am so soft i will become the shape of your hands when you hold me. please slip me on when you are cold to remind me that my warmth is a necessity, not a burden. when the skin on my thighs bruise, please tell me that purple, then blue, then green, then yellow is your favourite colour. please remind me that when the weeks change, i change with them and it is okay if sometimes i flip like a calendar page. i want to hear about the scary movies you watched as a child and i want to know if they still keep you up at night. i have a feeling that you no longer believe in monsters after being called one so often and never understanding why when you looked in the mirror. i am supple and malleable and all too fragile, a glass figurine trying to fall in love with the fucking bull. my mother tucked me into bed at night with stories of how you would eventually break my heart and i kicked off the sheets to make room.”— November 29th, 2018 (k.p.k)
“I am half afraid to hope for what I long for.”— Emily Dickinson, from a letter to Austin Dickinson wr. c. August 1851
(via nancybarry)
“I feel very small. I don’t understand. I have so much courage, fire, energy, for many things, yet I get so hurt, so wounded by small things.”— — Anaïs Nin, from Nearer the Moon: The Previously Unpublished Unexpurgated Diary, 1937-1939
(via kareseburrowspoetry)
“All night you waited for morning, all morning for afternoon, all afternoon for night; and still the longing sings.”— Ruth Stone, from “At Eighty-three She Lives Alone,” in In the Next Galaxy
(via kareseburrowspoetry)
“She has a heart, too much heart perhaps.”— Marcel Proust, from The Complete Works; “Remembrance of Things Past,”
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George MacDonald, from “The Complete Poems & Fairytales,” wr. c. 1905
(via pou-voir)