a Site

a wall has been erected in front of me
“new construction, do not pass”
right now it is made of bricks and mortar,
but in the past it was made of wood and bamboo
I have slaved away, day and night building this wall,
a barrier,
in front of me
because I would rather look at bricks than my own reflection
this wall protects me from my greatest fear, which just so happens to be myself
myself, particularly, in love
I spent months constructing this wall
slathering between the cracks all the food I haven’t eaten
painting on all the brick the words I should have said
and tacking pictures of myself in different positions of aching:
curled beneath blue sheets,
inhaling scents of a ratty sweater,
and so this wall is a reminder of who I become when I fall in love
and I have been walking around, behind this wall, with contempt
with ease
because I can laugh and engage and smile behind it
but no one falls in love with me
and I fall in love with no one
right?
until…
you
a six foot small framed high-octane energy bright spark sees me
he saw me
looked through me
past that wall
an anomaly
before I felt my bricks burning at the thought of another looking at me
and the mortar oozed out when a stranger’s arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me closer
and I boiled over and erupted
and I frantically built that wall right back up
stronger mortar, rougher brick
and continued along,
I have braved the inevitable
I was free from love
yes, finally
but you:
who forget words when I speak
who challenged me to a thumb war to feel my hands before my lips
who wants to make me smile above all else
you are a rarity,
you are air finally entering my lungs,
you see me
you’re chipping away at that wall so slowly
but I am so afraid
before, if someone showed me any sign of love I would leap into their arms
I yearned for warmth and space and heat and rush
I drank bottles of truth serum and I spilled it all until I was empty
this wall never existed
but now:
when you asked me when was the last time someone told me I was beautiful, I cried
and when you told me you wanted to know my past without judgment, I cried
and when you said how you fell asleep looking into my eyes and looked into them hours after yours were closed, I cried
and my chest keeps swelling and sinking and pushing
and it is because I feel as though I am so tainted that you shouldn’t want me
I feel so much; I am a walking hurricane
I breathe nothing but fire
I no longer see stars at night
because I want love more than anything
but I am so deathly terrified of it
this familiar coat of all feelings; a patchwork of combined thoughts
I’ve worn it so many times before that it has ripped in so many places
it’s lost its shape
so I pinned it to the wall
but you,
you stood on the other side of the wall
at a distance, where I kept you
and you took the smallest hammer
and began chiseling away at my brick
and I panicked
because you said I was beautiful
and you loved my eyes
and you see through me
but I stopped myself from building it back
you see through me,
past me,
I should let the rubble surrounding my feet be a reminder of my strength instead of a weakness,
a break,
demolish me
break me into pieces until I am surrounded by dust
you should see all of me
tear down the wall.

ahh okay:

1) My eyes are my absolute favourite feature and I play them up as much as as I can, whenever I can.
2) I’m really incredibly proud of my writing and I think I’m really good at it.
3) I like to give strangers compliments, particularly people that come into my work or who look like they’re having an awful day. I know it always cheers me up.
4) Eye contact is a big thing for me, and I will always look you in the eyes when we’re talking.
5) I am now moving onto a stage in my life where I am moving past negativity and into positivity. I’m proud of myself for that.
yayy go coralina godforbidanyonetakesarisk katekillet nadventurer steffitube veronikabrylinska

ahh okay:

1) My eyes are my absolute favourite feature and I play them up as much as as I can, whenever I can.

2) I’m really incredibly proud of my writing and I think I’m really good at it.

3) I like to give strangers compliments, particularly people that come into my work or who look like they’re having an awful day. I know it always cheers me up.

4) Eye contact is a big thing for me, and I will always look you in the eyes when we’re talking.

5) I am now moving onto a stage in my life where I am moving past negativity and into positivity. I’m proud of myself for that.

yayy go coralina godforbidanyonetakesarisk katekillet nadventurer steffitube veronikabrylinska

"A part of me wants you
in the most innocent way possible:
taking off your shoes in my bedroom,
climbing under the sheets and watching
whatever’s in my Netflix queue,
barely even touching
as we talk about our days until we
fall asleep with our
clothes still on.

But another, hungrier part of me
wants you unbuttoning your shirt
before you’re completely through my door,
falling onto my bed, and
scrambling to make your fingers
unbutton my shirt faster
Your mouth shaking out
my name the entire time."
Safe To Say A Lot’s Going Through My Head When I Think About You | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)
paintdeath:

Pina Bausch

paintdeath:

Pina Bausch

Black Widow

let me be her

that girl;

the one you have to block from your newsfeed because even the sight of me; even the thought that I still walk around unfazed burns your skin

I wanna be that girl that you see walking on Queen West and think:

“that will be the girl I starve myself for”

I strive to be that girl who tears out all your organs and pickles them in jars,

your kidneys and spleen and gall bladder –

and shelves them on display for all to see

“these are all the hearts I’ve stolen

are you sure you want to climb into my bed?”

I am that girl whose shampoo you buy and sniff in between gulps of Jameson

I am the girl whose grin makes your bones shatter

I am the girl whose eyes make your whole body dissolve into a river,

and then you’re swept away by my laughter

finally I’ll get to be the one who ruins all your favourite places for you

I’ll be the one who makes you put barriers up, guards and gates around your heart to prevent its inevitable breakage

I’ll get to be that girl who makes you weep at the thought of anyone else loving you

I will be her

that is my goal

I don’t want to be that girl who extends her pinky and then her hand and then her arm and then is thrown forward into your arms and is held by no one when you leave

I can’t be that girl who spins tales of you and me and my cousin’s wedding or you and me, doing the lap dance from Death Proof for you, or you and me smiling for a picture in front of an aquarium with the hashtag #thisguy

I am no longer that girl who becomes a ghost when you don’t say a word to me

I am not that girl who tells you how cute you are and how fucking smiley I am when I see you

I am not that girl who gets left

no,

this time:

I get to disappear

I get to walk away and leave you for an Asian guy (girl)

I get to unfollow you on Instagram because looking at pictures of you at the ocean makes me feel guilty

I get to be pretend that I am unharmed;

that I lit the fire but I’m not becoming ashes

I get to have people tell me they want to take me out for coffee, or sit by the water, or hold my hand at that goddamn aquarium

I’m that girl now –

her:

the one your fear most

because I am

a caterpillar,

a peacock,

a fox,

and you are the forest floor,

and the desert sand,

and the thinnest branch,

and I will walk all over

and break you.

From Being

the one thing that really keeps me from being myself is,
well,
me
traits, quirks, moves that are innately built in to my genetic makeup
are also the things that prevent me from who I am
the one thing that really keeps me from being myself is this tight kilted skirt
so tight, in fact, that because I can hardly breathe I find it hard to say what I need to
held in by this waistband that divides me in two
the one thing that really keeps me from being myself is this bottle of wine that I have lost myself in,
one, two, three times
alone,
unfocusing the lens of my present onto a picture of the past,
to recede,
the one thing that really keeps me from being myself is this profile that I hide behind
this picture of me, head cocked, sly smile, eyes wide
is that really me?
the one thing that really keeps me from being myself is my big mouth that drags me into unfortunate situations,
reveals too much or too little,
gossips, quivers, spits fury and turns upward in a forced motion of supposed happiness
am I –
happy?
am I –
myself?
this city keeps me from being myself because I’m afraid that around every corner that I might see the face of someone I long for or long to harm
the subway keeps me from being myself because there are too many bodies pushing against mine that I am afraid if I touch one more person I might mould into them
the sun keeps me from being myself because in its light I shut my eyes so tightly you can’t see into my soul
this stabbing pain in my stomach keeps me because it’s the only thing I feel and it prevents me from ingesting new moments
my mind is the real culprit:
stories,
stuffed to the brim with tales
chock full of figures from back then and now
blurred visions of faces begged to be forgotten
she steals my eyes sometimes,
my mind,
pulls them out of their sockets and reverses them
to see the gears turning
“I can feel you disappearing”
I am gone;
a cyborg,
my body disintegrates but my mind lives on
transhuman;
transcendent
“myself”
is in photographs ,
imprinted in the sand,
(I always look back to where I sat to remind myself that I leave a mark),
and in words
in –
words
yes,
the curvature of my transcribed thoughts
I live in
words
how foolish I am!
they hold me like my favourite old sweater
smell of my skin
breathe with ease
but now: words on page should mimic words from one’s mouth,
no?
I should speak what I write and write what I speak,
should I not?
guard only my deepest secrets, but speak honestly and freely
then, will I be myself?
fine then, the truth:
once, when I was seventeen I grabbed the hand of a boy I liked and held it in mine to know what it felt like to feel another’s warmth,
when I was four, I lost my hearing to a monster that lived in my canal,
and I never speak of it because although I can’t hear well,
I can feel the vibrations of dishonesty and hate
last week, I broke a bag, my headphones, a mug and a chip in half and cried because I literally felt everything around me fall apart
there:
the truth,
now:
can you see me?
or are the pages of my body still slowly filling up with my stories?
perhaps I will never be “myself” until I lie on my back drawing my last breath
and I reread the words on my skin
and finally find
me.
until then, one last truth:
the one thing that really keeps me from being myself and the one thing I fear will continue to do so:
is me.

"Don’t you dare
Shrink yourself
For someone else’s comfort -
Do not become small
For people who refuse to grow."
m.v., Advice to my future daughter, #2. (via findingwordsforthoughts)
thequeentakesall:

thistimeillmake-you-proud:

thistimeillmake-you-proud:

He’s like “whaaaaa?”

i don’t care if i am reblogging this again, this guy is seriously adorableee

THE GIRL WITH BLACK HAIr IS MY BEST FRIEND!! HI beccamrose!!!!!!!!!

this is me and my friends 3 years ago. I’M AN INTERNET SENSATION

thequeentakesall:

thistimeillmake-you-proud:

thistimeillmake-you-proud:

He’s like “whaaaaa?”

i don’t care if i am reblogging this again, this guy is seriously adorableee

THE GIRL WITH BLACK HAIr IS MY BEST FRIEND!! HI beccamrose!!!!!!!!!

this is me and my friends 3 years ago. I’M AN INTERNET SENSATION

fuckyeahillustrativeart:

cross-connect:

Sam Weber born in Alaska is a New York-based illustrator, awarded a Gold Award by The Society of Illustrators and the Spectrum Annual. He graduated from The Alberta College of Art and Design in Calgary, before completing a Masters at The School of Visual Arts in New York. His current clients include Time, DC and Rolling Stone.

Posted to Cross Connect by Margaret

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