Tag: p

inkskinned:

I’m after a bridge into a better place, a door or a window. I’m done living where the air doesn’t reach. At this point if there’s a crack in the wall it’s worth it and I’m climbing. I used to think there was no way out. Then I realized I wasn’t looking hard enough for an exit. I’ve scrambled enough my nails are bleeding. But I think it’s the sun I’ve been seeing.

I think it’s important to have closure in any relationship that ends — from a romantic relationship to a friendship. You should always have a sense of clarity at the end and know why it began and why it ended. You need that in your life to move cleanly into your next phase.

Jennifer Aniston (via theonewitharnela)

squeeful:

ineptshieldmaid:

marzipanandminutiae:

feels-for-the-fictional:

satanpositive:

Roses are red, that much is true, but violets are purple, not fucking blue.

I have been waiting for this post all my life.

They are indeed purple,
But one thing you’ve missed:
The concept of “purple”
Didn’t always exist.

Some cultures lack names
For a color, you see.
Hence good old Homer
And his “wine-dark sea.”

A usage so quaint,
A phrasing so old,
For verses of romance
Is sheer fucking gold.

So roses are red.
Violets once were called blue.
I’m hugely pedantic
But what else is new?

My friend you’re not wrong

About Homer’s wine-ey sea!

Colours are a matter

Of cultural contingency;

Words are in flux

And meanings they drift

But the word purple

You’ve given short shrift.

The concept of purple,

My friends, is old

And refers to a pigment

once precious as gold.

By crushing up molluscs

From the wine-dark sea

You make a dye:

Imperial decree

Meant that in Rome,

to wear purpura

was a privilege reserved

For only the emperor!

The word ‘purple’,

for clothes so fancy,

Entered English

By the ninth century

.

Why then are voilets

Not purple in song?

The dye from this mollusc,

known for so long

Is almost magenta;

More red than blue.

The concept of purple

is old, and yet new.

The dye is red,

So this might be true:

Roses are purple

And violets are blue

.

While this song makes me merry,
Tyrian purple dyes many a hue
From magenta to berry
And a true purple too.


But fun as it is to watch this poetic race
The answer is staring you right in the face:
Roses are red and violets are blue
Because nothing fucking rhymes with purple.

inkskinned:

when i saw her the insides of me were a thirst that the throat forgives. she was the light that never forgets itself. some people have a beauty in the simplest of movements. i could spend hours finding oceans in the whorls of her fingertips. every part of her was a mystery, a delight, a gift.

injuuns:

to all the kids who were robbed the possibility of coming out on their own terms – this one’s for you ( tip : don’t leave your phone where your mother can see your incoming texts filled with sweet little nothings ) 

*click for high-resolution 

inkskinned:

sometimes you grow up and look back and the people you used to look up to seem different. it’s a messy feeling. the singer you used to idolize turns out to be just a person, and sometimes a bad one. your best friend isn’t actually that good of one: she treats you like you’re incapable of anything because she’s used to being the better one. the girl you loved is selfish and never loved you back; just loves it when she’s getting attention. the boy you grew up with doesn’t share anything in common with you.

sometimes you try and force these things to fit. sit in cafes with them and realize that you have nothing to say and nothing to do. blame yourself for being tired or hungry or distracted or all three. that this person you loved is in the right. it’s you who is wrong about everything.

but at a certain point you’re standing there and holding these precious things and you realize they need to stay precious. that if you keep trying to force them to be what they used to be, you’re forcing yourself to be who you used to be, too. and you’re different now. a better you. sometimes things need to stay in the past so they can stay good. and sometimes perspective gives you the chance to say “you know what. i think leaving is good.”

it’s not a great feeling. i’m used to being left behind. don’t like being alone. loyal to a fault. but the truth is it’s better to realize it sooner. that there are people it’s not worth it for. that you’ve been trying to see the best in but who will never open the door. that at one point you were maybe right for. 

but they stayed put while you move forward.

take me out into the back yard and shoot me i’m not kidding
 
but i am kidding
 
but if you have the gun i have two whiskeys in me
and i hate how when you look at me
it goes straight through to the other side of the building
 
but i’m kidding because people have sensibilities
about this kind of thing and
we’re too comfortable laughing
 
but i’m not kidding
and this is a cry for help
but that’s too much so i’m just
 
jk everybody lighten up it’s just
 
that i smell like a grave so much and you like the way dirt tastes
and we’re both dancing around asking the other person
if they carry too much weight
but nobody wants a party where everybody’s hiding pain
 
so yeah i’m not joking i’m dying and
if you need someone i’m here
and i want you to stay
 
but on the other hand
my mom is watching
so yeah
i’m good is what i’m saying.

JK // r.i.d (via inkskinned)