Δευτέρα, 31 Αυγούστου 2015

θέλω αυτό που θα με κάνει να κάνω ότι έκανα στα 15 μου χωρίς να φόβάμαι και χωρίς να σκέφτομαι.


τλευταια μερα του καλοκαιριου
περασε ακομα ενας χρονος,
αποχερετώ τα λουλούδια που πεθαίνουν
και αποχεραιτώ και εκεινα που
θα ανθίσουν ακομα μια φορα,
για να πεθάνουν μαχόμενα.
τώρα δεν θα τρόω κεράσια,
αλλά ροδάκινα και πορτοκάλια
και δεν θα έχω κόκκινα χείλη αλλα
πορτοκαλιά δάκτυλα
η αναγέννηση που ήρθε την άνοιξη
θα πεθάνει με την αυτοκαταστροφή του φθινοπώρου,
και θαρρώ έτσι συμβαίνει πάντα
κάθε που κλείνει ο κύκλος
πρέπει να σπάζει και να ξαναγίνετε


Σάββατο, 22 Αυγούστου 2015

Depression does not always mean
Beautiful girls shattering at the wrists
A glorified, heroic battle for your sanity
Or mothers that never got the chance to say good-bye
Sometimes depression means
Not getting out of bed for three days
Because your feet refuse to believe
That they will not shatter upon impact with the floor
Sometimes depression means
That summoning the willpower
To go downstairs and do the laundry
Is the most impressive thing you accomplish that week
Sometimes depression means
Lying on the floor staring at the ceiling for hours
Because you cannot convince your body
That it is capable of movement
Sometimes depression means
Not being able to write for weeks
Because the only words you have to offer the world
Are trapped and drowning and I swear to God I’m trying
Sometimes depression means
That every single bone in your body aches
But you have to keep going through the motions
Because you are not allowed to call in to work depressed
Sometimes depression means
Ignoring every phone call for an entire month
Because yes, they have the right number
But you’re not the person they’re looking for, not anymore
I think that people are so weird about nudity & the human body. Sex is not bad, naked bodies are not bad and naked bodies don't always have to be connected to sex. —Emily Browning
No erotic work of art is filth if it is artistically significant; it is only turned into filth through the beholder if he/she is filthy. 

Δευτέρα, 17 Αυγούστου 2015

Παρασκευή, 14 Αυγούστου 2015

He loves me like a monster,all teeth and talk and hiding in the dark.That’s my specialty—men with strong bodies and fragile hearts,and if you hold them too tightly they will crumble beneath you like an avalanche that’s waiting.Still, he looks at me like all things beautiful and burning and we love each other recklessly with hearts so empty our names echo against vandalized walls that say,“There was someone here before me,listen closely and you’ll hear their name.”
He has matches for hands,and I, a paper heart.Gasoline will drip from our mouths and we will call that holy.We will burn at the stake and pollute the sky with smoke and selfishness,and we will say it was in the name of a crooked love.We will burn our own bodies to the ground and we will call that sacrifice.We will tear ourselves open like there’s something left inside.Nobody ever taught us how to love.