Beyond Poetry

Teenage girl. Furthest thing from perfection; Just a blog of my thoughts. Feel free to ask any questions or just talk to me xoxo

balancing acts. (jl)

(via looking-for-jillian)

I walk through the grocery store with an empty basket in my cold hands; my old jeans hang loose around my hips and I think about his hands along my ribs. Piano keys made from bones, playing songs to the rhythm of my inhales and exhales, drumming against my alabaster skin in the middle of the night.

Some nights, I wish he would use his soft hands and push me straight down and into the floor boards; some nights I want disappear under his skin. My love is pressed into the doorframe; never in or out, it’s always been afraid to jump; to fly; to fall. He holds my face between his index finger and thumb, and when his lips meet my jaw I forget about my bones ripping through my skin; I forget about floorboards and the ocean I’m sinking in.

I put three granola bars and a bag of pita chips in my basket, that’ll be enough for the week. He’ll worry about how I don’t eat much lately; but I’m ok I promise him; I sink into the sheets and tell him I’m ok; I run my fingers along my sternum, I’m ok.

There have been so many boys who have swallowed me whole; who have left me empty and aching. I swallow myself whole at night— the girl I used to be; and maybe I’m not eating enough, but maybe I’m just trying to find a balance; between sinking and floating; between flying and falling.

I check out at the grocery store and laugh at my measly purchases; I know I’ll be ok though. I know I’ll come back in a few days when I figure it out; I know I’ll be ok. His love swallows me whole, and I’m ok; he makes me dinner and I’m ok; my love steps over the threshold and I learn how to fly; how to balance; how to be ok. Maybe I haven’t been sinking at all, maybe I’m just not empty anymore; maybe I’m just finding that balance between holding on and letting go; between inhaling and exhaling.
trojan opus →

purplemonkeysexgod69:

I brought a houseplant
to work to make things
look alive for a change

but I kept forgetting to
water it

fortunately it’s made
out of plastic
but I meant to pretend to
water it occasionally and
even bought an antique
teapot to use as a pretend
watering can

mrchrismad:

beaumarbre:

random-homestuck-things:

bishounen-jake-english:

jackadiddlediddle:

bishounen-jake-english:

FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO DO NOT KNOW

THIS IS A TRUMPET

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THIS IS A TROMBONE

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THIS IS A TUBA

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AND THIS IS A FRENCH HORN

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THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME

You mean trumpet

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Slidey Trumpet

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Big ass trumpet

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Drunk Trumpet

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I’M GONNA PUNCH YOU

My sides

AT LEAST YOUR INSTRUMENTS LOOK DIFFERENT 

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those are some fancy guitars

(Source: spoopy-dawson, via faithtrustandfuckyou)

luciferhasthebooty:

etnah:

hinder:

it is actually really sweet when someone stays up late to talk to you

What if they fall asleep by accident though?

then you love it even more because they stayed up even though they were dead tired just to talk to you ya doof

(Source: innovate, via coeurvierge)

Franz Kafka, in a letter to Oskar Pollak dated November 8, 1903 (via teenager90s)

(via the-fault-in-our-iman)

When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what do I know of yours?

the-fault-in-our-iman:

It can’t be a Sunday unless it’s 8pm and I still haven’t started my homework

rustyvoices:

it’s a gloomy day. i don’t know where this ache came from, but here’s to a better tomorrow. here’s to finding a place to put down all the emptiness.

six word story (via the fault-in-our-iman)

Stop fighting battles you cannot win.

joshpeck:

troyler-oakllet:

joshpeck:

give me attention

no

jokes on u bc u just gave me attention damn wassup how u feel

(via the-fault-in-our-iman)

clannyphantom:

when people try to argue with you about something you clearly know more about
imageimage

(via the-fault-in-our-iman)

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