tell me that you care
even if your hands
are on her wounds.
tell me that my eyes
still speak of starbursts
and meteor showers
even if you painted the
whole sky on her chest.
tell me that you love me
even if her scent lingers
in your skin like second layer.
tell me that you won’t leave
even if you already walked
out the door with everything
i have and used to have.
tell me | mediwrter (via mediwriter)
163 notes
I don’t know what it is,
but you do things to me,

lovely dark things.

Even

the gentle unexpected
graze of your hand on mine is
annihilating.
Beau Taplin || lovely dark things.  (via afadthatlastsforever)
1,149 notes

How can we love when our streets are running red?
When there is a three-year drought in
the state of California
but the golf courses stay green?
When our neighbors
are face down on the pavement?
When our country has its
hands up, screaming “don’t shoot?”
When “protect and serve” is a running joke?
When rapists are given a slap on the hand
and put back on the football team
in time for the new season?
When we wake up
to the sound of pregnant women
begging their bellies to not
burst anytime soon?

How can we love in this world?

But how,
when things are so fragile,
when we only have each other,
when “change” is a joke
we keep swigging in hopes
that it will get us drunk,
when it’s all we have left

how
can we not?

What Else Is There | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)
669 notes

It’s your flaws
I want to taste.
Your crooked mouth.
The way you smell after
being out all day.
The lump in your throat.
Your shaky hands.
Your morning breath.
Your prickly legs.
Your pimpled politeness.
Your tangled hair.

I don’t want to be able to
run my fingers through you
easily. It’s no fun writing
about perfections.

I want to talk about you-
flawed,
crooked,
endless
you.

For Whom? | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)
1,355 notes