Not everyone is okay with living like an open wound. But the thing about open wounds is that, well, you aren’t ignoring it. You’re healing; the fresh air can get to it. It’s honest. You aren’t hiding who you are. You aren’t rotting. People can give you advice on how to heal without scarring badly. But on the other hand there are some people who’ll feel uncomfortable around you. Some will even point and laugh. But we all have wounds.
— Warsan Shire
We've heard you were a victim.
Stop crouching in the shadows, chewing your hair.
You can be graceful, not like a ballerina,
like a hedge of coral,
built up and eaten and worn down
yet alive, carving the rhythms of the seas.
You can be a threshing sledge,
new and sharp with many teeth.
format by irrestible
When your heart is broken you plant seeds in the cracks and you pray for rain.
When you stop and take a
good look around,
you freeze and rethink of all the good things and bad things that have happened to you.
You never think the last time is the last time.
You never think you'd be thinking about a life without that certain someone,
you don't think time would stop ticking.
You freeze and feel empty, but you stop looking around you
take a deep breath in and know that it's in the past.
You can let the past destroy you or you can learn from it.
I am still learning how to let me past teach me.
I'm still healing, time takes forever.
I am learning how to slow down and for the time being,
I'm enjoying myself and being myself.
But sometimes I wonder
who am I, where do I belong, what am I doing.
you freeze and rethink of all the good things and bad things that have happened to you.
You never think the last time is the last time.
You never think you'd be thinking about a life without that certain someone,
you don't think time would stop ticking.
You freeze and feel empty, but you stop looking around you
take a deep breath in and know that it's in the past.
You can let the past destroy you or you can learn from it.
I am still learning how to let me past teach me.
I'm still healing, time takes forever.
I am learning how to slow down and for the time being,
I'm enjoying myself and being myself.
But sometimes I wonder
who am I, where do I belong, what am I doing.
Traumatic experiences are
broken bones of the soul.
If you engage in the
process of recovery,
you get stronger. If you
don’t, the bones remain
porous, with permanent
holes inside, and you are considerably weaker.
broken bones of the soul.
If you engage in the
process of recovery,
you get stronger. If you
don’t, the bones remain
porous, with permanent
holes inside, and you are considerably weaker.
© format coded by: br0kenwings
Please don't remove this, or make it invisible!
Image is from tumblr, original photographer unknown.
Please don't remove this, or make it invisible!
Image is from tumblr, original photographer unknown.
It's time to take your
love back from
those
who hurt you; from those who never understood how to protect someone who cared as deeply as you did. It’s time to take those pieces, the shards of heart and hope, from the hands of those who do not deserve to hold them any longer. It is time to believe that you are worthy of being whole again; that you are worthy of knitting yourself back together, day by day, fragment by fragment.
It is time to understand that you never had any say in how long someone stayed; you never had any say in how long someone loved you. There was nothing you could have done to stop them from walking away. Whether you silenced the thud of your heart against your ribcage, whether you spoke in a softer tone or made yourself fit into their lives like a square peg in a round hole, you never had any say in how long they were going to appreciate you. How long they were going to try.
However, you do have a say in how you rise; in how you pick yourself up from the debris of it all. You do have control over how you grow, how you build yourself from a foundation of ash and flame, from charred pieces of past and weathered old names.
So take it slowly. Start by taking back your favorite songs, the ones that always made you cry when they left. Take back your favorite coffee shop, the one you always went to together. Take back your favorite sweater, the one that always smelled like them. Then, calmly, take back your quiet — the thoughts you have when you are asleep, the conversations you share with the moon. Take back your beauty, the confidence that was once built on the bedrock of their approval. Take back your heart, no matter how battered and bruised it is, no matter how much it hurts.
I promise you will bloom again. I promise you will flourish. Trust me when I say that wildflowers grow in the oddest of places, between the cracks of memories, they gather strength within scar tissue, stretching toward the light, saying “We deserve to be here, no matter where we have come from.” Now it’s your turn.
who hurt you; from those who never understood how to protect someone who cared as deeply as you did. It’s time to take those pieces, the shards of heart and hope, from the hands of those who do not deserve to hold them any longer. It is time to believe that you are worthy of being whole again; that you are worthy of knitting yourself back together, day by day, fragment by fragment.
It is time to understand that you never had any say in how long someone stayed; you never had any say in how long someone loved you. There was nothing you could have done to stop them from walking away. Whether you silenced the thud of your heart against your ribcage, whether you spoke in a softer tone or made yourself fit into their lives like a square peg in a round hole, you never had any say in how long they were going to appreciate you. How long they were going to try.
However, you do have a say in how you rise; in how you pick yourself up from the debris of it all. You do have control over how you grow, how you build yourself from a foundation of ash and flame, from charred pieces of past and weathered old names.
So take it slowly. Start by taking back your favorite songs, the ones that always made you cry when they left. Take back your favorite coffee shop, the one you always went to together. Take back your favorite sweater, the one that always smelled like them. Then, calmly, take back your quiet — the thoughts you have when you are asleep, the conversations you share with the moon. Take back your beauty, the confidence that was once built on the bedrock of their approval. Take back your heart, no matter how battered and bruised it is, no matter how much it hurts.
I promise you will bloom again. I promise you will flourish. Trust me when I say that wildflowers grow in the oddest of places, between the cracks of memories, they gather strength within scar tissue, stretching toward the light, saying “We deserve to be here, no matter where we have come from.” Now it’s your turn.
