Quotes added on Saturday, March 24 2018

Who am I besides the girl's name that is so-called mine?

I'm trying to reach out.
But no one is listening.
I've fallen in a ditch, more like a grave.
Will no one help pull me out?
I feel like im dying.
Is this my home now?
I dont belong here.
I feel unwanted.
I'm not who I want to be, nor whom they want me to be.
Who am I besides the girl's name that is so-called mine.
It's amazing to witness the ones that come to hep on their own.
it's amazing to witness it's the ones that want to be there...
Just to finally have an excuse as to why I should "give in".
Just to finally have an excuse as to why I should do what it is they want me to do.
Where did you go?
You've been here all along.
Doing nothing.
Do I deserve that?
Do I deserve the nothing you're giving?
What do I deserve?
I thought I was better.
I thought I finally did it.
I thought I finally made it.
Truthfully, there are so many there.
But they're waiting for something that is never going to happen.
It's a test, can't they see? 
Its a test that none of us are passing. 
I'm losing grip and no one is doing anything.
My hands are hurting, as well as my body, and heart.
End this pain, I beg. 
End it.
its happened one too many times these past 7 years, one too many.
I'm trying to reach out.
But no one is listening.
When breathing in life and breathing out poetry, remember that 80% of halitosis comes from the tongue.
Waxing philosophical may be tiresome, but it leaves your philosophy smooth and hair-free for up to six full weeks.
Sometimes a secret falls into the wrong hands. But most of the time they leap.
To be human
and love someone
is savage beauty,
and there are no gods
to answer for it.

Perhaps this is why
we choose betrayal:
because no one
can help us decipher
what love really is.

— Nikita Gill



 Format © dontsellyourselfshort

“Yes, of course I’ve hardened, of course I have had to change to survive in this unforgiving world. But somewhere inside me, there still lives a little girl who once tried to invent a time machine, just to go back in time to save Vincent Van Gogh from his sadness when she heard he ate yellow paint to get the happiness inside him.”


Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp them until the blood flows.

no one can ever figure out what you want, and you won’t tell them, and you realize the one person in the world who loves you isn’t the one you thought it would be, and you don’t trust him to love you in a way you would enjoy.

— A Primer for the Small Weird Loves


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