it is only with the heart
that one can see rightly,
what is esential
is invisible to the eye.

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"

Listen, I know there were days you wanted to die

when the sky was so clear
you’d stand obnoxious underneath it
begging for stars to shoot you
just so you could feel at home.

I know about the ways you misplaced all the right words,
stockpiled every important social cue you ever missed
from the first time you learned you were wrong,
waited to make it right
once everyone stopped watching.

I know you let them beat up your beauty in bed
because redemption was still alive in you, howling relentless, gathering strength.
Felt like ecstasy when they pounded it out of you in the hard dark.
Those days of dead weather
got all strung together
and they spoke for you,
wore you down to telling everyone here it was a good life
so you could run back into the wails of your windfight.

I know the parts of your past that haunt you the most
are the days you weren’t being yourself,
and I know that’s why most of your past haunts you.
There were so many who found you out,
and they were right.
You were good.

So
un-
numb.

"

Buddy Wakefield, “Healing Hermann Hesse”  (via thisblankpage)

(Source: yetevidently, via amodestcollection)

"You spend your whole life stuck in a labyrinth, thinking about how you will escape it one day, how awesome it will be and imagining the future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present."

John Green (via joannaerin)

thefitprep:

thefitprep.tumblr.com-Health, fitness and preppy style

(via fieldsandbicycles)

thefitprep:

thefitprep.tumblr.com-Health, fitness and preppy style

(Source: breakfastbreakfast, via fieldsandbicycles)

Map of the World by Natural Skin Color

(Source: mapsontheweb, via sirenmouth)

"

If a man is only as good as his word,
then I want to marry a man with a vocabulary like yours.


The way you say dicey and delectable and octogenarian
in the same sentence— that really turns me on.
The way you describe the oranges in your backyard
using anarchistic and intimate in the same breath.

I would follow the legato and staccato of your tongue
wrapping around your diction
until listening become more like dreaming
and dreaming became more like kissing you.

I want to jump off the cliff of your voice
into the suicide of your stream of consciousness.
I want to visit the place in your heart where the wrong words die.
I want to map it out with a dictionary and points
of brilliant light until it looks more like a star chart
than a strategy for communication.
I want to see where your words are born.
I want to find a pattern in the astrology.

I want to memorize the scripts of your seductions.
I want to live in the long-winded epics of your disappointments,
in the haiku of your epiphanies.
I want to know all the names you’ve given your desires.
I want to find my name among them,

‘cause there is nothing more wrecking sexy than the right word.
I want to thank whoever told you
there was no such thing as a synonym.
I want to throw a party for the heartbreak
that turned you into a poet.

And if it is true that a man is only as good as his word
then, sweet jesus, let me be there
the first time you are speechless,
and all your explosive wisdom becomes
a burning ball of sun in your throat,
and all you can bring yourself to utter is, oh god, oh god.

"

Mindy Nettifee (via pigmenting)

(via amodestcollection)