Just let me leave the world for a bit...

Just the prettier things.



I asked you to tell me about her and you asked me what I wanted to know and that’s when I knew you didn’t really love her. Because if you loved her then you would’ve told me about how her eyes light up when she laughs and she bites her lip when she’s sad. You would’ve told me about the way her teeth remind you of those glow-in-the-dark stars you stuck on your ceiling when you were little and the way her voice wraps around your bones and keeps you from shaking. You would’ve told me about the tips of her fingers and the way sunshine pours from her mouth. You would’ve told me about how she even looks pretty when she cries and the way she hides behind her hair. You would’ve told me about the way you want to live inside her ribcage and fall asleep in the crook of her neck. You would’ve told me that she tastes like the entire galaxy and she speaks in poetry. You would’ve told me that the sound of her breath while she sleeps is your new favorite song. You would’ve told me about how she’s in your blood and the way she’s got so much love in her veins that if you cut her open, you swear flowers would grow from inside of her. You would’ve told me about the way you love her, like I love you.

I heard you got a new girlfriend  (via extrasad)

still love this (via sweetcatastrophex)

(via thewaywardredhead)

Posted 3 months ago with 91,938 notes
have you considered that maybe i am not pleasant?

maybe i wear lipstick so that
you will see my pretty pink mouth
wrapping around a coffee cup lid
and be distracted enough not to notice
that i am intelligent and powerful;
a threat.

maybe i draw my brows into high arches
so you will look at my unimpressed skepticism
and overlook my spiteful glare
as a trick of my silly, girlish routine.

maybe i wear my heels so high and thin
so that i grasp your attention with the sway of my hips
as i listen to the click-clack-click against the floor
and know that if you should try to overpower me
i walk on sharpened knives.

maybe when i laugh at your worthless jokes
i am really baring my fangs
waiting patiently for the day
that i sink them into your neck.

i am not made of porcelain pleasantries;
you will find that these things are my armor
to keep you at a distance
so you do not step on me and shatter
my fragile control.

i am not a husk — i am not wilting.
i am turning my head
so that the fire blazing through my eyes
does not catch on the accelerant of your sweaty palms
and burn your bones to dust.

i am not your pretty girl;
i am a fury, a faerie, a phoenix —
a forest of werewolves and wendigos
that will carve out your chest
so that the next time i paint my pretty pink lips
i will taste the copper tang of your dying breaths.

R.K., I Am The Wolf Only Barely Contained (via werewolfarchery)

(via thewaywardredhead)

Posted 3 months ago with 103,112 notes

(Source: sexalcoholweed, via thewaywardredhead)

Posted 3 months ago with 9,445 notes

I could make a home in the warmth of his arms,
my cheek pressed to his chest,
his pulse penetrating my ear,
breathing echoing in the small space.
The blue pools of his eyes could redefine the sky.
My ribcage could be occupied by his fingers
and we could be happy.

Sometimes I wonder if he was born
with those electric fibers perfectly spread across his jaw
and that tired, intelligent shadow
beneath his eyelashes.
It was the swift eyebrow raises that got me.
It was the tiny smirks from across the room,
the glances,
the suggestion.
We were shoulders brushing,
eyes nestled on one another,
lowered voices,
pauses.

We were dangerous.


Marigold, a poem by me. (via thewaywardredhead)
Posted 3 months ago with 2 notes
maybe I will want
you
like I have always
wanted green eyes,
but have
hazel,
instead.

Mikayla Oglesby, not quite. (via aquietjoy)

(via thewaywardredhead)

Posted 3 months ago with 276 notes

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Posted 3 months ago with 101,999 notes

(Source: m-aitri, via thewaywardredhead)

Posted 3 months ago with 171,244 notes
Poetry is the way I fuck you when you’re gone.

Nicola Cayless, Literary Sexts (via moderateclimates)

(Source: hellanne, via thewaywardredhead)

Posted 3 months ago with 30,761 notes

(Source: highschoolhandjob, via thewaywardredhead)

Posted 3 months ago with 39,882 notes
Suddenly she realized that what she was regretting was not the lost past but the lost future, not what had not been but what would never be.

F. Scott Fitzgerald (A Nice Quiet Place)

(Source: cheerupsmileandbehappy, via thewaywardredhead)

Posted 3 months ago with 56 notes
theme