Abbigale Elizabeth


Permalink | 81 notes "This is for my pride. I was suffering long before you found me. You built a roof over my head to protect me from the rain and you were the tornado that blew it down. This isn’t for you. These bruises are self inflicted; don’t flatter yourself. You threw a rope out into the ocean for me me, told me to hold on. Tried pumping the water out of my lungs and dunked my head in a bathtub instead. This is for clarification. I was never a fragile thing. Never an antique in a thrift store desperate for a polish and another shot at sitting on a mantle. I am not a caged animal with my tail between my legs. You are not a man with a whip. You are a scraped knee. You are a forgotten battle in an ancient war. You are scissors hacking away at stone. You are a carving on a redwood tree. You were a fight and I am a fighter. This is not forgiveness." — What’s a Creek to a Canyon? by Stevie Lorann (via caelums)

(via caelums)

Permalink | 2,396 notes "Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street." — Frida Kahlo (via childoflust)

(Source: annawoolf, via caelums)

Permalink | 37,446 notes "Of course I am not worried about intimidating men. The type of man who will be intimidated by me is exactly the type of man I have no interest in." — Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (via verbascumm)

(Source: emotional-algebra, via fuckyeahfeminists)

Permalink | 95,200 notes "I will always love the false image I had of you." — (via expiry)

This

(via airetimai)

(Source: pianopreece, via articulat)

Permalink | 33,668 notes
Permalink | 91 notes "you are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
forget you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
prettier
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.
" — Warsin Shire (via caelums)

(via caelums)

Permalink | 49,176 notes "I am trying to remember you, and let you go at the same time." — nayyirah waheed (via perfect)

(Source: piezea, via hecallsmebeloved)

Permalink | 310 notes "Freedom (n.): To ask nothing. To expect nothing. To depend on nothing." — Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead (via indicio)

(via indicio)

Permalink | 1,912 notes "

Perhaps you’re fascinated
by the contours of my cheeks
with skin like bed sheets that
hide all of the complexities of what’s underneath,
and present an image of simplicity
(that is easier to digest than
skipping heart beats for hairy legs).

I wonder if
these next six nights
of not having to feel
so alone will make you
wondrous in keeping me
as a bedside table:
to place your hard times on
before you get the forty winks
your eyes need
to glisten in the midday light of my
bedroom.

And it’s hard to
fall back into sleep
when I’ve fallen in love
with studying the one that lies next to me.
I wonder if you’ve found landscapes in my
elbows like I’ve found
ebbing tides in your forehead.

Perhaps your love for me is fleeting,
and you’ll have moments where you
consider tearing yourself even further apart,
but as soon as it’s possible
you close your eyes again,
fall out of the thought
and back into sleep.

But, perhaps you’ll keep me as a bedside table:
to place your brain things in my cupboards,
to place your step dad in my cupboards,
to place your sad eyes in my drawers,
to put your heart ache in my
mouth, your desire for love in bite marks on my
neck, and your misty breath in my
ears

whispering ‘you are so important to me’.

" — Bedside Table, Lucas Regazzi (via 1000scientists)
Permalink | 21,248 notes