with-pockets-full-of-stars - Tumblr blog

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She was free in her wildness. She was a wanderess, a drop of free water. She belonged to no man and to no city.

Roman Payne, The Wanderess (via cosmofilius)

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There are two kinds of people who look at the night sky. Those that look up and see a graveyard of stars. And those that look up and see a sea of souls, shining brightly to guide us home.

Two Kinds of People | Nikita Gill (via untamedunwanted)

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You are damaged and broken and unhinged. But so are shooting stars and comets.

Shooting Stars and Comets | Nikita Gill (via untamedunwanted)

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the idea of coming home to the love of your life is so soothing and nice I can’t wait to look forward to that

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he is always on the other side of your heartbeat. a persistence, a pestilence. the walls in your chest rotting away. the walls in your chest peeling. a panic. he is not allowed to get his golden hands around your heart. he is not allowed- that first night, black thread unspooling at your touch. that first night, hounds. he is not a body, but he is a boy. he is your boy. time unravels in your fingers and you take each moment apart with your teeth. chew, swallow. do not think about how much longer. do not think. the howling won’t quiet, time keeps forcing itself through your lips. you stick your fingers in your ears. you stick your fingers down your throat. time spills from your mouth- blueberries, mint, honey, orange sunsets, the entire night sky. take it back, you scream. take it all back, let me start over. it wasn’t enough. it wasn’t enough. he will go softly into the dark. he will go softly and that’s all there is.

MORIBUND, kat excelsors (via excelsors)

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Beauty is a curse on the world. It keeps us from seeing who the real monsters are.

The Carver (via kevinsmellsgood)

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“We ignored truths for temporary happiness.”

six words; twenty-eight (via naturaekos)

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She’s sensitive, too. Takes to hurt the way water takes to paper.

Junot Díaz, This is How You Lose Her  (via wordsnquotes)

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First, quit picking old wounds and going for walks in the aches and pains you already made it through– you call it healing, but it sounds like a good way to take a haunting home with you. LONELY is a no-vacancies sign for an empty room on the backside of your chest, and there will never be enough people to love that empty out of you. Love will not save you. You will save you.   Remember, no matter how much you need a voice at the other end of the line who only wants to take care of you, it is a felony to call 911 just because you need someone to talk to. You cannot shrink to radio static, to heavy breath on a telephone. Your aching does not end in an ambulance.   Now, breathe. Yes, I know you’ve heard this one before. Do it anyway. Got ribs like the wrong side of a fistfight, yeah? That’s from the hyperventilating. Your lungs just survived a car crash inside of your body. Be gentle with them, please.   Find the pocket of your heartbeat where you keep forgiveness. We will try again tomorrow– I know you’ve got a bone to pick with tomorrow, but it’s coming anyway. Listen, in a few hours our little world will turn herself right-side-up again, and you will forget about all the ways this lonely night sang you watered down blues and your hands will start to make sense again.   You think you’ve seen every ugly corner of this whole rotten world, but listen: there are an infinite number of things we don’t know and, statistically speaking, at least half of them are probably very, very beautiful.

POST-PANIC ATTACK by Ashe Vernon

(from my second book, Wrong Side of a Fistfight, available here)

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If that’s what bein’ bad does to you, Nanny thought, I could of done with some of that years ago. The wages of sin is death but so is the salary of virtue, and at least the evil get to go home early on Fridays.

Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad (via discworldquotes)

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aphrodite is not the goddess of soft kisses and downcast eyes she is the Victory standing amongst war ravaged men brandishing a banner of hope aphrodite does not preside over a kingdom of rose petals and hidden bruises she holds court in an empire of screaming voices and beating hearts  singing “we will not be silenced” aphrodite is not  quiet whispers and white purity  she is blazing eyes and exposed breasts a body of which every vein and artery belong solely to her aphrodite is the goddess of lust and passion patron of fury and affection she offers you her blushing soul but if the pin is pulled it becomes a grenade between your fingers

Who was the first feminist? (via aqhrodlte)

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I think I fell in love with the way your soul echoed mine.

vixxennn

The book I’m finally writing (via wnq-writers)