As a little girl, I was told that one day I would fall in love and get married.
I was not told that sometimes the people I loved would not love me back and that it will feel difficult to walk down that aisle with the mountains of ashes I let people leave in my heart, but it will feel very easy to turn and run. So I did.
As a little girl, I was told that drugs weren’t cool and I should never touch them.
I was not told that one day I might hate myself so much that I’d poke holes in my veins in attempts to feel some sunshine inside of me.
As a little girl, I was told by my grandfather on his death bed that everyone’s time comes when they must go back to heaven.
I was not told that sometimes their time comes at 17 in their best friend’s car blaring their favourite song and heaven quits existing when the sound of colliding metal manifests in your dreams.
As a little girl, I was told to stay away from men in white vans offering me candy, because they were the bad guys that would hurt me.
I was not told to stay away from vibrant eyes and beautiful smiles offering me home in their arms, because good people can hurt you too.
As a little girl, I was told that I would bring home boys that my father didn’t approve of.
I was not told that I would want to bring home girls but I’d be too afraid my father wouldn’t approve.
As a little girl, I was told I may be pressured to do things he wants me to do and I should wait until I’m ready.
I was not told he wouldn’t care if I was ready and the word “no” isn’t always stronger than his hands cuffed around my wrists.
As a little girl, I was told not to be scared of the monsters under my bed, because they were really only in my head.”
They were right about that, but I think I’m even more afraid now.
(trm) Little Girl (via acutelesbian)
Holy fuck. No piece of writing has ever made me ache as hard.
“I guess what scares me the most is knowing that at any moment, you could rip my heart out of my chest, tear it into pieces, throw it on the ground and stomp all over it. And that I’d just pick it up and hand it back to you.”
“Ernest Hemingway once wrote the saddest six-word story of all, he announced. Yes, I know, she said. I’ve read it. Well then, he replied, What would your six-word story be? And she responded, I think it would be this: My heart can never be translated.”
– Fragment 80 (via sphivera)
“I am made up of bad habits. Consistent in how
I love boys who will never love me back.
Letting the phone go to voicemail when my mother calls. Biting my nails bloody.
Wearing dresses when I should wear jeans.
Making my body small. Forgetting names
but not asking for them again. Maybe I should
have called. Maybe you should stop calling.
Maybe I should have remembered how you take your coffee,
your favorite band,
that you smoke a pack a day. Maybe I should
have apologized. If it’s any consolation, my next birthday
will be me eating cake in bed
and licking the icing
off of my fingers alone.”
this has me written all over it
“I think we seek out people who we hope will fix what our childhood broke.”
– Yasmin Mogahed (via bhagyawati)