Every time you smile, you slip stars under my skin and galaxies bloom like gardens, and I can hear the sound of something other than space.
For a while now, I have always thought of getting old as some horrific monster threatening to strangle the life out of me. Although people around me don’t really say it, I’ve felt this incredible pressure to fit into the same social construct that generations of women before me have traditionally fit into with ease: that of a wife and a mother. Every year, I give myself a self-imposed deadline to accomplish this feat.
But over the years, I can honestly say that not only do I no longer give a single fuck about anyone’s social constructs, I’ve cared less and less about his and her towels, bridal gowns, or the expiration date of my ovaries.
What I do care about is loving well and being loved, waking up to a job that excites and fulfills me, having enough down time to do the things that are important to me, and surrounding myself with enough people, music, art, and poetry to feed my soul.
I’ve decided that there is no room in my life for abstract concepts, so I’ve learned to let them go.
𝐻𝑒𝓇𝑒’𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒸𝒶𝓀𝑒 🍻 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓎 𝒷𝒾𝓇𝓉𝒽𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒!
I’m a woman with an old soul. I like the hot sun and the cold rain, the glamour of the city lights, the noise at a crowded bar, the silence of a book shelf. I believe that joy is contagious, love can make people dizzy, and that people are innately good. I’ve had enough of handsome sadists, dim Adonises and brilliant couch potatoes. I know what I want and I am not gonna settle!
This page is for anyone who has loved, lost, or made a fool of themselves, in the name of love.
He tells me how he feels
ashamed as he explained his
struggle to find the right words
to express his love for me.
Behind every cliché line and
overused metaphors he scribbled
on the Christmas card he gave,
I know there is something so
precious between us that language
itself can’t name. So I treasure
every word he gives me like
they are pieces of himself,
because, goddamit, at least he tries.
He feels that his failure is more
devastating to him than it is to you.
So when you find him with his fists
in his hair and his heart in his mouth,
remind him that his worth is not in his
words alone but in his heart, and you
wouldn’t have him any other way.
When he’s drained and consumed, love him most. When he feels defeated and ready to give up, love him so much that you bring to life every cell in his that has almost died.
His touch was a
of summer days.
You could almost smell
the promise of heat and
passion. As the winter
coldness kisses my face,
I think of his breath like
the summer breeze
whipping salt unto my skin.
To this day, 14 months
and 2,756 miles away,
no one makes me
ache like you.
My body revolts against itself just so it could miss you. Tag that person you’re missing right now. #officiallymissingyou
#bemymuse 33, as requested by @pessimist_romantic
On some days,
when the fog and the sun and the wind dance just so,
you’ll see flickers of gold through cracks in the clouds,
like fine knife cuts, like the stories I carved into my arms
as a teenager, quiet and symmetrical, violent and beautiful,
as if holding their breath, until light finally bursts in a slow,
blinding yellow ripple along the horizon. And on those days,
if you forget the roles you play, and the promises you broke,
and the lovers you left waiting, if you let yourself be small
and breakable and infinite for one second,
you will be able to see the sunrise smile.
I hope you are never too busy to watch the sunrise smile.
#bemymuse 32 33 – Clouds as requested by @_annie._.boo, beautiful as requested by @lonpoetry
Know when it’s time to give up.
Treat yourself like the QUEEN that you are.
There is nothing noble about unrequited love.
You deserve so much more. You’re not a vulture.
Don’t prey on a weak body that’s too tired to love you back.
#bemymuse 31 – as requested by @ejpchua and @kris_ennn
I hate it when you use words like “let’s try” or “we’ll take it slow.”
As if we haven’t already screwed each other up, as if we don’t
have scars, scorch marks and blood beneath our fingernails.
Romanticizing forever like we didn’t know the
sulfur taste of the abyss, as intimately, as infinitely,
like each and every hope that has drowned to it.
Love should not be a gamble to see
which of us is the most breakable.
I am taking back
every fevered kiss
that you stole from me,
when I was too naive to realize
that giving was an option.
I am carving my
declaration of independence
from you, into the walls I put up
when you left. And if we ever
meet again, know that I am
who I’ve become
inspite of you,
not because of.
Let my collarbone be your confessional.
Leave your d e m o n s here.
I will cradle them between my shoulder blades.
Let the bed be sweat-stained, fear-stained,
sin-stained, and shaking for the hundred and one
reasons you never had the courage to name.
I will drink the venom of your tragedy and turn it
into spring water in our throats. You are safe.
I have been so disconnected with IG lately. I’m so terribly sorry. I’ve never felt so overwhelmed with my life. From adjusting to a new job just a few months ago, to moving and finding another job while thinking, gosh will this job hunting ever end, I’m too old for this! And then finally finding one along with the prospect of a new love, then evaluating it if it’s really for me, but then deciding I deserve better things so I had to give up the job along with the guy 💔 sigh I know.
I read somewhere that we can have everything! Just not at the same time. It’s been a roller coaster so far! But I believe in timing and in my capabilities.
I’m thankful that I was patient and courageous enough to wait for what I deserve. I’ve finally found the job that I’m happy with.
As for love, well, that will come eventually. I’m not waiting, nor am I looking – what will be 🎶 will be.