“You are not the boy
I should cry over.
You are the broken record
that everyone writes about
in songs and in poetry,
and I have said it before.
You are not liquor.
You are not the hangover
I will eventually get over.
You are not beautiful,
you are dangerous & painful
and I should know that by now.
You are a lost cause.
You are not the boy
who saves me in the end.
You are the temporary,
you are the serendipity
and the evanescence
and the one I never get closure from.
You are not the boy
I’m supposed to fall in love with.
You are not the boy
I want to be missing right now,
but you are. Oh god, you are.”

a.v., the boy

09-18 / 19:27 / 88 notes

“Kiss me.
I want to know just how addicting
that nicotine you love so much
really is.
I want that cigarette smoke
to walk me home,
to wrap itself around me,
to desperately cling onto my skin,
to do all the things
you wish you could do yourself
(if only you didn’t have
so many more goddamn years
on your life than I do).
I hear it in your voice—
too strong to only be assertive,
too soft to only be platonic;
I hear that growl in your words
like you wish I’d disobey you
just so you could grab my wrists
and make sure I behave.
So look at me that way again.
Tell me not to talk to you like that.
Put me in my place.
I know it’s about so much more
than me following the rules.”

a.v., in the garden of Eden

09-16 / 13:49 / 31 notes

YOU ARE THE KIND OF SCAR
I DO NOT WANT TO WRITE ABOUT,
I SAY IN THE FIFTH POEM I HAVE WRITTEN ABOUT YOU.

HOW COME MY WORDS FUCKING HATE YOU SO MUCH?
HOW COME THEY ARE ALWAYS SO HUNGRY FOR YOU?

HOW COME I FUCKING HATE YOU SO MUCH?
HOW COME I’M ALWAYS SO
HUNGRY FOR YOU?

d.a.s, excerpt from “Valentine’s Day” (via backshelfpoet)

“maybe we were nothing
but white noise.
maybe we were
meant to fade
into the background:
no happy ending,
no ending at all.
& now I’ll hear you
in every coffee shop,
behind every closed door—
we were everywhere
and we still are, babe.
we were everywhere
and there’s no escaping us.”

a.v., static eyes, endless goodbyes

09-15 / 2:12 / 130 notes

1. That boy who gives you butterflies and goosebumps will break your goddamn heart. He will tear it into a thousand pieces, try to fix it, then tear it apart again. Trust nobody.

2. He’s going to make you believe that he would never hurt you in a million years. He’ll get defensive when you accuse him of things, then turn around and treat you like shit.

3. You will cry. A lot.

4. Netflix and junk food will become your new best friend.

5. Then you’ll feel like shit for eating so much junk food and you’ll exercise everyday and eat almost nothing.

6. You’ll be okay. You’ll stop crying, eventually. It will take a while, but you’ll be fine. At some point you’ll stop wanting to hurt yourself. You lived before him and you’ll live after him.

six things I wish I knew six months ago. (via im-trapped-in-wonderlandd)

“TO THE BOYS
WHO MADE A MAUSOLEUM
OUT OF MY BROKEN HEART:
YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED
TO LEAVE ROSES AT MY GRAVE.
YOU DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT
TO HOLD MY CONCAVING HIPS.
PUT YOUR DAGGERS AWAY.
I DON’T WANT TO SEE THEM,
I DON’T WANT YOUR DANGER.

TO THE BOYS
WHO CARVED MY EPITAPH
EVERY TIME THEY KISSED ME:
DANGER— WARNING SIGN—
I WILL MAKE YOU INFINITE.
EVERYONE WILL KNOW
HOW TOXIC YOU WERE.
NO ONE WILL KNOW
WHAT TO DO WITH YOUR ASHES;
YOU WERE ALREADY SCATTERED
TO BEGIN WITH.

TO THE BOYS
WHO PRIED THEIR WAY
INTO MY VULNERABILITY
AND LEFT ME HINGED OPEN
AND EMPTY AT THE THIGHS:
I HOPE YOU FALL IN LOVE.
I HOPE YOU WORK ALL YOUR LIFE
TO MAKE A GIRL HAPPY.
I HOPE SHE HAS A DAUGHTER
WHO FALLS IN LOVE.
I HOPE SHE HAS A DAUGHTER
WHO COMES HOME ONE NIGHT
WITH HER HEAD IN HER HANDS
AND I HOPE SHE TELLS YOU
WHAT LOVE DID TO HER.
I HOPE YOU HUNT HIM DOWN
ONLY TO SEE YOURSELF
IN HIS APATHETIC, GLAZED EYES.

I HOPE YOU COME BACK
JUST TO SAY YOU’RE SORRY
SO I CAN TELL YOU
YOU ARE NOT WELCOME
ANYMORE.”

a.v., I am not scared of being angry anymore.

09-12 / 23:53 / 67 notes

“this is your seventeenth attempt
at loving yourself right—

at first, you opened your hands
and grabbed everything you saw,
as if touching them
made them yours to keep.
one day you’ll reach for stars
and convince yourself
you own the constellations.
you’ll be lost in the sky forever.

the next seven years
were full of make believe
and saving princesses
from jungle gym castles.
the stories made you a hero,
a boy worth becoming.
you were so in love with the lies
that you became one.

thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen:
you became best friends
with a girl named porcelain.
she drained everything from you,
but my god, you loved her;
you memorized the cracks
underneath her grounded feet,
and how much she liked
your shaking hands
wrapped around her waist.
sometimes, when you can’t sleep,
you tell her your secrets
and pretend like she’s listening.

seventeen, sick of supernovas:
I know you can find your way home.
seventeen and chasing asphalt:
you save yourself this time.
seventeen with a gutted stomach:
this is the year you move on.”

a.v., to my atmosphere: happy 17th birthday.

09-12 / 16:14 / 21 notes

“I guess that’s just part of loving people: You have to give things up. Sometimes you even have to give them up.”

Lauren Oliver, Delirium (via hplyrikz)

“This life.
This night.
Your story.
Your pain.
Your hope.
It matters.
All of it matters.”

Jamie Tworkowski, “Welcome to Midnight. Welcome to World Suicide Prevention Day.” 

(via twloha)

09-11 / 1:05 / 2,169 notes / twloha

“& if I had three wishes:
they would be for your smile
posted on every billboard,
your laughter playing
on every radio station,
and your breath still singing
inside of your lungs.”

a.v., a eulogy for the Genie, in honor of national suicide prevention day.

09-11 / 1:03 / 65 notes
BJs