Naturally & Artificially flavored


That’s the trouble with loving a wild thing: You’re always left watching the door.

Edith Pattou, East (via feellng)

I like my hair messy. My love wild. And my sex aggressive. But I’m still a sensitive woman, just with passion.

Sade Harrison  (via sexual-feelings)

(Source: wildsultrys0ul)

Played 74,829 times

If you love me hardcore, then don’t walk away, / It’s a game boy, I don’t wanna play, / I just wanna be yours, like I always say, Never let me go.

(Source: thechaosiskillingme)

Dear baby,
I don’t know how to say this to you.
We’re coming from generations
of women who deserved better.
Who loved like healing
and smiled like lightning bolt.
Always watching the door slam
and gently waiting for a return,
gently waiting for someone to say sorry to,
gently waiting for someone to come back.
Baby, people wear bravery differently.
Baby, I hope you don’t forget to leave once the love starts emptying you.
Baby, I don’t remember if I cried when
I saw my mother’s heart break for the first time,
but I hear pieces of it still haunt that Brooklyn apartment.
Baby, don’t let anyone turn you into a phantom love affair,
into an aching ghost or something to be mourned.
Baby, love yourself like you’re not waiting for
someone else to do it.
Baby, have dreams bigger than the hurt.
Take the Sunday mornings and take
the bad nights and take the changing leaves
until you aren’t homesick for something better.
This wicked thing that’s got it’s hands inside of you,
this wicked thing with its claws and its fangs
that tells you that you must love what doesn’t love you right,
baby, you’re stronger than all of it.
Baby, I promise to still love you on the days
that you think you aren’t.
Baby, I promise to still believe in you
on the days you can’t believe in yourself
and on the days you think you don’t have a reason to.

Y.Z, for my future daughter (via rustyvoices)

Last night, I ran for the nearest bus passing
but let it forget to let me on.
Last night, the lake was a teaspoon
of black sky and somewhere,
you unremembered my name.

Every doorframe in my house
seems to wait for you.
The sink leaks and the dishes
fall out of my hands.
They never break,
just clang and clang
and remind me how quiet
everything is afterwards.

Soon, though, I’ll wrap myself in lace
and cut my hem a little lower
and walk the night alone.
Soon, I’ll holds my heels in my hands
and the pebbles on the sidewalk
will hurt my feet.
Soon, I’ll be okay.

I miss you
doesn’t mean I want you back.
I miss you
doesn’t mean I need you to fix this.
I miss you only means
one day I won’t.

Soon | Ramna Safeer (via inkywings)

The illusion of great art is to make one believe that literature is very close to life, but exactly the opposite is true.

We want so much,
when perhaps we live best
in the spaces between loves,

that unconscious roving,
the heart its own rough animal.

From A Hunger So Honed by Tracy K. Smith (via hush-syrup)

I wonder
whose arms would I run and fall into
if I were drunk
in a room with everyone
I have ever loved.

this becomes almost deeper when you think of non-romantic loves too (via asimetricna-vagina)

(Source: abbycogen)

You are not brave because you said no, or brave because you ran away, or because you looked love in the face and said “not today.” There is nothing courageous about the way you left me, open handed, palms outwards, waiting. I was standing at your door and I was saying “I will take you as you are if you will do the same for me.” You didn’t know how to. No one had taught you that wanting someone desperately is like sliding out of your clothes and out of your skin and laying yourself at their feet. All skin and no walls. All soul and no teeth, no metal, no keys. No one had shown you how lovely vulnerability can be. How proud it is to be naked in front of someone. Fully clothed, naked. Arms full of heart. Heart full of rain. Body like an olive branch, I am telling you that I love you today. I am telling you that I am not scared to be fragile in front of you. I am telling you that I trust you to look after my gentle. Keep it safe, don’t keep it hidden. They say that giving your name to someone is giving them power over you. I wrote my name on your wrists. I wrote it in your mouth. Whispered it into your ear. I said “here, this is who I am, do what you will with it. I am not scared. I am not frightened.” Even then, even after that, in that quiet rain filled room I watched you stitch yourself back up again and turn away, I watched you do it without me. I kept my hands open anyway, just in case. Here, the mattress is asking you what you’re doing. Here, the walls have known how you sound when you murmur my name. Here, everything is wondering where your brave is. Where has your courage gone? Where is your wolf? I know that you can feel in colours that haven’t been invented yet. I know that you’re trembling beneath your soldier body. I would have loved you enough for the both of us. Until then, I will run through the streets after dark holding a sign that says ‘I SURVIVED LOVING A MAN WHO DID NOT KNOW HOW TO LOVE ME BACK AND IT WAS GLORIOUS.’

Azra.T “not leaving your heart wide open was the most cowardly thing you’ll ever do”  (via 5000letters)

Mark me like a passage from your favorite book, then open me there again and again.

Tammy Brewer, Literary Sexts (via larmoyante)