I need to get rid of this pack…

Tonight I learned that I do not like the taste cigarettes leave in my mouth

It leaves a bitter taste on my tongue

Like the words I wish to speak

Like the words you will never communicate.

The tobacco takes place of my emotions that I don’t show

Like my overwhelming depression and desire for social interaction.

So I keep my mouth shut

If I don’t make any sudden movements, my taste buds won’t detect the awful residue

If I don’t make any sudden movements, I might just be content with my life.

"Date A Girl

Date a girl who breathes. Date a girl who takes in oxygen the same way you take in bullshit tropes, in and out and constantly. Date a girl who will set you on fire because she is a dragon, a warrior, a brutal reminder that she’s not a girl who triumphs herself “not like other girls” because she knows they’re all unique. Date a girl who isn’t romanticized because she reads or travels or is a cool girl. Date a girl who you don’t call “a cool girl” to imply that other girls are lesser and she’s only unique because you’ve labeled her that way. Date a girl who doesn’t get “points” for liking video games. Date somebody you think is a “slut,” you elitist prick. Date a girl who wears grandpa sweaters because she ate all the grandpas. Date a girl who bores you with tidbits about the weather. Date an imperfect girl. Date the movie 500 Days of Summer. Date a picture of Jennifer Lawrence holding War & Peace and a slice of pizza. Date a pizza in the shape of a girl. Date a girl who likes the tv shows and the music you hate. Date a brown m&m. Date a girl who doesn’t make you her special little snowflake in all your efforts to seem superior and grandiose. Date a girl who spoils all your favorite movies, you little shit. Date a girl who puts her hair in a cute top bun and drinks tea and smears mac-and-cheese all over her body like it’s the mud of all the mountains you dream of. Date a girl who eats the fucking food off your plate and puts ex-lax in your oatmeal. Date a girl who smells like the sea and that one writing class you took where you wrote a bunch of poems about cigarettes by the beach and took up smoking cloves. Date a girl who has been dead for FORTY YEARS. Date a girl who reminds you of the ex that still thinks you’re an asshole. Date a girl who is a mermaid that will drag you to the bottom of the sea. Pearly white teeth, sharp. Huddled ocean fear. You can hear yourself screaming. Date the girl who haunts your house. Date a girl who makes you question yourself, the way you make poetry your lifestyle and use words like “streetlamp” and “spine” and “smoke signals” in every day conversation you smug fuck. Date a girl who can recite books: if you give a mouse a cookie, Apollo 13 junior novelization, that children’s book with the Rottweiler that had no words. Date a girl who poops. Date a girl who gets annoyed when you show up late, even if it’s only 5 minutes. Date a girl who talks too much during movies. Date a girl who sweats. Date a girl with arm hair. Date a girl with flabby arms. Date a girl who chews her cuticles. Date a girl because nobody’s perfect. Date a girl who wears the high-waisted pants and the deep maroon lipstick you hate. Date a girl who saved somebody on the Hindenberg. Date a girl with real anxiety who makes you realize it’s all not a fucking escape to beautiful things. Date a girl who is a snake. Date a girl who eats your heart. Date your mirror. Date a photoset. Date a girl. Date a plant. Go fuck yourself.”

My friend via Facebook via a friend of hers (via kitten—butts)

If you don’t fight for what you love, don’t cry for what you lose.

(via katej1629)

Pressure Point

Write me out and I’ll show you what you’re missing.
Tear me down. I’m starting to see through the fiction you’re feeding.
Sell yourself to the people you’re deceiving.
Come clean with your secrets.
Your conscience will bury you; I’ll dig the ditches.

equiuszahhak:

BEWARE: smoking weed can have dangerous side effects, such as never shutting the fuck up about the fact you smoke weed

(Source: hanamurateruteru)

I hate my Dreams sometimes…

I Fucking see you in person for the first time in months for like 10 fucking minutes. TRYING to erase you from my life. And those 10 minutes were enough for you to end up in my dreams that night and make me fall for you again. FUCK!

He’ll grab your waist and whisper in your ear and six months later you’ll find yourself drunk texting him that you miss him and he won’t respond.

(via downf-all)