I’m Destroying The Bridge To The Person That Has Been Destroying Me.

You are more than a list of mistakes and if anyone tells you otherwise, let it be the last they make.

Iain Thomas, I Wrote This For You (via wordsnquotes)

You are so much more!

Geneva, Switzerland

#jesuischarlie

People in Paris raise pens during rally in support of Charlie Hebdo attack victims #JeSuisCharlie

via

Stop worrying about the world ending today. It’s already tomorrow in Australia.

Charles M. Schulz (via wordsnquotes)

This is awesome!!

#schweinsteiger #fussball #bayernmunich

You’ve got to let go of who you were, to become who you will be.

Janet Fitch (via wordsnquotes)

Working on it

Not I, nor anyone else can travel that road for you. You must travel it by yourself. It is not far. It is within reach. Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not know. Perhaps it is everywhere—on water and land.

Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass (via bookmania)

I don’t want perfect, I want honest.

Unknown (via wordsnquotes)

#honesty

I know you don’t exactly have a way with words that you couldn’t possibly understand the storm that washed the thoughts from my mind or the distraction of worrying about my cheeks blushing when you lean in to whisper when there is no one within earshot i can’t possibly express on paper that feeling of taking a breath, of the moment in suspension right before you lose your balance that burns within my stomach when I catch you looking at me like that without warning there are so many words in the english language and no matter how many times I describe the warmth of your fingers or the fluster of nothing on my lips i cannot fathom us into poetry i am a poet and you do not make sense to me I cannot describe you as a blooming flower, unfurling to reveal the deepest parts of yourself because you would only laugh at that I cannot describe you in hyperboles or words or metaphors and I am a poet so that makes me want to scream my throat raw and rip apart the paper and words that flood from my fingertips messily that is the only way i can describe us and somewhat feel satisfied in the way I always seek satisfaction in words to write poetry about us is to write in a dead language to write poetry about us is the frustration in watching you expose the bruises on your jaw and cling onto your dignity while you whisper how reckless you’ve been into my shoulder I cannot bandage your pride; I cannot compose you into a sonnet I can write every delicate detail of drowning in a golden clawed bathtub or sitting in sunlight with flowers woven behind my ears but the truth is that each image i conjure isn’t simple enough because we are not an epic simile and your hands are not actually fire burning at my cheeks they are just hands I can write about myself I can condense myself into a neat placement of words but you I cannot describe you even if I spoke in hieroglyphics or braille I was once told that despite how beautiful, language is flawed And I did not believe that one bit Until you looked at me with an expression That I could not find a metaphor for you are strictly tangible, only flesh and crooked front teeth and that is why my heart will soon fracture for I can either write us onto paper or I can silently love you

ochredeity, ”To the boy I love”  (via wordsnquotes)

Words cannot describe.

You just do it. You force yourself to get up. You force yourself to put one foot before the other, and God damn it, you refuse to let it get to you. You fight. You cry. You curse. Then you go about the business of living. That’s how I’ve done it. There’s no other way.

Elizabeth Taylor  (via wordsnquotes)

Truth