thepeaceunknown

[thepeaceunknown]

[thepeaceunknown]

[thepeaceunknown]

[thepeaceunknown]

[thepeaceunknown]

[thepeaceunknown]

You can't bring rules to the table if you're not cuffing me

[thepeaceunknown]

Bleed Into Me

Love is fucking feral.

Don’t dress it up. Don’t call it holy.

It’s not a soft place to land,

not a quiet church for your wounds.

It’s teeth, bared and gnashing—

a hunger so deep it swallows you

before you even notice

you’re gone.

Don’t look at me with your soft eyes.

And don’t tell me about forever.

Forever is a lie we tell each other

when we’re afraid of being

burnt bare.

Because love is not eternal.

It’s destruction. It’s rebirth. It's death.

All wrapped up together,

a sickness you thank for keeping you alive

even as it eats you alive.

Some days, I don’t even like you.

I know that’s ugly. I know.

But it’s true. There are mornings

when your voice scrapes

on the fragile walls of my patience,

when I look at you and feel nothing

but weight.

And it terrifies me.

Not the emptiness,

but the fact that I will still choose you

even in that emptiness.

You want to know what love is?

It’s breaking yourself open

a thousand times and still coming back.

It’s saying, *Yes. Hurt me again.*

Take what you need and leave me hollow

because I don’t know

how not to give you everything.

It’s drowning in your chaos

and calling it home.

We build love out of violence.

Every kiss is a battle cry,

every silence a goddamn graveyard.

We bury the softer versions of ourselves.

We dig, we dig, and we fucking claw.

Not because we’re whole—

no, never that—

but because our brokenness

fits together like jagged glass.

You cut me,

I bleed into you.

And somehow,

we stay alive.

Maybe I don’t love you cleanly.

Maybe my love isn’t gentle or kind or easy.

But I will stand here,

open veins and all,

every ruined part of me

staring at every ruined part of you,

and I will say:

*Yes. Again. Again. Again.*

[thepeaceunknown]

[thepeaceunknown]

“If I have learned anything over this last year it’s that you have to live your own life too so that if something we hoped for doesn’t work out, you still have two legs to stand on, you still have your own path.”

— T.S. Krupa

[thepeaceunknown]

Stolen. Not from slavery. Not from sharecropping. From benefits paid for in blood

[thepeaceunknown]

"there's ain't no such things as halfway crooks You scared to death and scared to look"

~Mobb Deep

[thepeaceunknown]

I don’t really post things on this site frequently like this but this is very important! Please reblog!

[thepeaceunknown]

[thepeaceunknown]

“If you tell someone you’re divorced, they don’t even blink, but tell them you’ve never been married and they wonder what’s wrong with you.”

— Stephanie Bond, I Think I Love You

[thepeaceunknown]

[thepeaceunknown]

February 1, 1925 Journals of Anais Nin 1923-1927 [volume 3]

[thepeaceunknown]

"I've always been struck in America by an emotional poverty so bottomless and a terror of human life, of human touch, so deep that virtually no American appears able to achieve any viable organic connection between his public stance and his private life. This failure of the private life has always had the most devastating affect on American public conduct and on black and white relations. If Americans were not so terrified of their private selves, they would never have become so dependent on what they call "The Negro Problem." This problem which they invented in order to safeguard their purity, has made of them criminals and monsters. And it is destroying them. And this, not from anything blacks may or may not be doing, but because of the role of a guilty and constricted white imagination as assigned to the blacks. "