if you like me i’ll literally never realize it until you tell me, “I like you” and even then I’m still not sure

I had a dream last night that my hands fell off,
and I cried because I didn’t know how to hold you anymore.
I keep forgetting that when you fall asleep on an empty heart,
it leaves space for haunted things to make a home
in all of the quietness.
I have not talked to the night sky in days.
Mostly it is because I am tired of kissing the moon
and waking up to an empty bed.
Mostly, it is because I am tired of
calling the bed empty when I am still in it.
There must a boy in a faraway town not reading my poems,
and he must know that they are all the same, anyways.
Does all of this still count as addiction
when I don’t like the taste of it?
What I mean is, I don’t want to miss you,
but that doesn’t stop the dizzy from happening.
I still can’t decide if this is about
forgetting to hate you or not remembering to love myself.
I hope am forgiven for holding my name in my mouth like it is something dirty
when it isn’t next to yours.
I am constantly making the wrong prayers,
but for the first time since you left,
I am asking for myself back instead of you.

Y.Z, Revolution (via rustyvoices)

urbancatfitters:

slytherin-starkid-of-tardis:

urbancatfitters:

everyone is embarrassed of their fourteen year old self trust me if you’re fourteen right now you will regret whatever it is that you are doing at this moment

What, being a SuperWhoLockian, Tumblrian, and just being generally pretty good? I don’t think so.

screenshot this and look at it in 3 years

I’m 14 right now and I think about this every day

HIGH SCHOOL



This is how to run a stick of Chapstick
down the black boxes on your scantron
so the grading machine skips the wrong
answers. This is how to honor roll. Hell,
this is how to National Honor Society.
This is being voted “Most Likely to Marry
for Money” or “Talks the Most, Says the
Least” for senior superlatives. This is
stepping around the kids having panic
attacks in the hallway. This is being the
kid having a panic attack in the hallway.
This is making the A with purple moons
stamped under both eyes. We had to try.
This is telling the ACT supervisor you have
ADHD to get extra time. Today, the average
high school student has the same anxiety
levels as the average 1950’s psychiatric
patient. We know the Pythagorean theorem
by heart, but short-circuit when asked
“How are you?” We don’t know. We don’t
know. That wasn’t on the study guide.
We usually know the answer, but rarely
know ourselves.

HIGH SCHOOL By Blythe Baird (via blythebrooklyn)