use the words on my tongue as an antiseptic for my soul like a hurt dog licking it’s wounds.
I always told myself if I wrote well enough, I could purify myself:
cough up the bad thoughts and swallow down the good,
replace all the blood in my body with poems, so the next time I got cut, I could at least bleed beautifully.
But there is nothing beautiful about this sort of self-medication,
and I realized I was only trying to mutilate myself before anyone else got the chance.
I guess I liked the sharp edges of a piece of paper on my wrist better than I liked the idea of someone else’s fingernails.
I’m still trying to forgive myself for that. all the king’s poets with all of their pens couldn’t put me back together again (via egracely)
- Lady on the bus next to me: Tell me again- what are you not going to do in daycare today?
- Little boy: I will not hit the teacher with a light saber.
- Lady: And why are you not going to hit her with a light saber?
- Boy: It is my toy, and my choice, but if I hit her with the light saber, I'm acting like a Sith.
- Lady: Do you want to be a Sith?
- Boy: No! I am Obi-Wan!
my life got about a thousand times better once i stopped censoring myself
and by censoring i don’t mean i suddenly embraced indiscriminate swearing; i mean i stopped trying to sugarcoat my past or my feelings; i stopped lying by omission; i stopped having guilty pleasures; i began unabashedly enjoying whatever i liked; i became very honest; i cut out of my life poisonous people and negative ideals, and i am so, so much happier for it