claudia / 18
A man can hate your guts, want you to literally die, and they will still want to have sex with you. Women who date men need to get this, please: sexual attention from men means nothing! There are ways to tell if they actually like you, but this is not one of them!
“maybe we were the right people but at the wrong time maybe you really meant it when you told me you loved me but “i love you” doesn’t mean “i won’t leave you” and “we’re forever” will become “please pick up the phone i fucking need you” and maybe all that’s supposed to be left of us are a few cracks and scars and a few sleepless nights here and there we’re nothing but a damaged heart or two and mouths that fill with blood every time someone mentions the word love they’ll probably never play our song on the radio and i’ll probably never find someone that will love me like you did again”— i love you doesnt mean i wont leave you (via poeticirl)
“The bones in my fingers have gotten longer. Long enough to hold a gun, or your hand. And my mother knocks on my door much less often, quietly, unspoken, she knows my blood sleeps in my veins nowadays, not on my bedroom floor anymore. I don’t talk about it much, but when I was younger, my skin got so tight around me, I’d cut my body open. Drain the blood, release the pressure, breathe breathe breathe. But dizzy and numb aren’t the same as happy. The tightness comes back again, when you’re alone, when the moon comes out, and you’ve only got so much blood to give. Now that I am older, with longer fingers, and gentler thoughts, I know I don’t need razor blades. I need fists up, I need my mother. I fight and I cry and I sing and I breathe. I don’t need love, or whatever fucked up thing I convinced myself was love in my haze. I keep my heart in a glass box in my hands, not between his slippery fingers. It’s still fragile, but only I can break it. And I do, and I will. And I bleed. But I’ve got my fists up this time.”— This is a poem about getting better (via extrasad)