Love Letters To Mars.
The truth is all my poems are disturbing. The truth is I don’t write about happy because when I’m happy, I’m too busy singing. When I’m happy, I’m too busy laughing. When I’m happy, I don’t want to lock myself in my room and bleed onto my notebook. And anyway, no one wants to share their happy. We are greedy with our happy. We hold it to our chests and strangle it between our fingers. It can’t breathe but it is ours and this is enough. That’s why I write about sad. Because sad is 2 for 1 in the bargain bin. Sad is take all you want, there’s plenty to go around. Sad is sit with me and bleed because I’m dizzy from how much this hurts and I could really use a glass of water. Could you bring a glass of water? I’m writing about sad again and my tongue is turning to dust in my mouth. My heart is rotting to ruins in my chest. Think Coliseum. Think Pompeii. Think something much less dramatic and much less glamorous. Think garbage spilling out of a can into an abandoned street and the dawn light is weak and nothing is illuminated and there are no shadows. I’m writing about sad again and my fingers are tired.
Fortesa Latifi - I’m writing about sad again (via madgirlf)

Based on a true story


Based on a true story



a magician asks you to pick a card - any card, in fact. you do. they ask you to put the card back in the pack - anywhere in the pack, in fact. you do. they walk away. ten years later, your wife gives birth to the six of clubs. “is this your card?” the midwife asks, in a familiar voice.

what the fuck


If you’re reading this, just know that you’re going to be okay.



this deserves waay more notes

good god

Detach from needing to have things work out a certain way. The Universe is perfect and there are no failures. Give yourself the gift of detaching from your worries and trust that everything is happening perfectly.
Orin (via stardust-seedling)




do you ever feel like there’s just so many pretty girls but most dudes are just subpar like there are radiant goddesses everywhere and just piles and piles of guys in backwards baseball caps and sandals

it’s called makeup

you can put eyeliner on a frat boy that doesn’t change the fact that’s he’s wearing a neon muscle shirt and nike flip flops