staroa

[staroa]

am I insane for wishing this guy I'm helplessly in love with was a woman? I think sometimes I would love him more if he was. and I feel so guilty for it, but what am I supposed to do? I love him as he is but at the same time I find myself longing for the chance of him being something other than a man.

[staroa]

I find it annoying that I already grieve something I have yet to lose

[staroa]

[staroa]

i find myself to be nothing but a lovely creature, withering at the mercy of your maddening embrace

[staroa]

"All I am is literature and I am not willing or able to be anything else"

—Franz Kafka

[staroa]

“I deserve to bleed for the sin of living” no one asked bro, stop talking to bots on that weird ass app and start talking to real people for once smh. fucking loser.

(it's me. I'm the loser.)

[staroa]

what doesn't kill you makes you weird at intimacy

[staroa]

— Franz Kafka (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[staroa]

a coffin is too ordinary for your body, I'd bury you in my own arms

[staroa]

‎I'm a mother, I think.

‎I have never known the pain of giving birth to an entirely new being nor have I ever experienced the despair that follows. I have never held a small infant in my arms, surrounded by people who loved me, my face stained with tears of joy, and being privileged enough to say that they were mine. I have never struggled like a mother struggling to keep herself together so she can lead her children to a life where they know what it's like to be loved. I have never witnessed the child I raised become the spitting image of someone who once had my heart clutched in their hands.

‎in truth, I'm still a child—one who has yet to undergo the hardships of motherhood; the burdens I'd have to carry, the obstacles I'd have to face, and the agony I'd have to endure.

‎but for what it's worth, I have children, too. though, they're not small, fragile humans who barely function without my supervision—far from it. they're people I've known for as long as I can remember. people who've aged and grown alongside me. I may not have been the one to bear the burden of bringing them into this world, and despite that, I'm still their mother. I'll be damned if anyone says otherwise.

‎for them, I'd burn myself alive to keep them warm. I'd let them eat me alive if it was the only thing that would satiate their hunger. I'd drain myself of all my blood to quench their thirst. if my children were condemned to eternal damnation, I'd offer to take their place.

‎when they walked through paths that led them to their own despair—when they were begging the gods to let them die—I was there. I held them in my arms and had them soak my clothes with their tears. I told them that their mother loved them. I told them that their lives were still worth living. that the pain would soon pass. that it would be okay. and I promised them that I meant what I said—because I'd tear the world apart to make sure of it.

‎after everything, I wonder if all of that is enough to make me a mother. I'm pretty sure it is though.

‎

‎but anyways, happy mother's day, to myself and to anyone reading this. it doesn't make much sense, I know, but it's also 2am and my mind has already reduced itself into a puddle of bullshit soup. bye.

‎