Everything's Gonna Be Alright

And maybe love isn’t always a kiss on a forehead but rather a hug and a kiss that say’s “I’m sorry let’s not fight” than spilling words out to each other in the heat of the moment that you would regret later. Maybe it isn’t about buy her diamond ring’s and lace underwear excepting her to wear it for you later that night. Maybe it’s leaving her pill bottle next to her phone with a glass of water as a reminder that thing’s can get better with a little help. Maybe love isn’t about giving fifty fifty each way, maybe it’s about giving 100 when that person greatest demons come to visit for the day. Maybe love isn’t about writing about how beautiful her body was the first time you saw it and how you’d have never seen anything more raw and natural. Maybe it’s about writing how she makes your soul dance in the rain of sunshine and how it also makes your heart ache from time to time when both sides are being stubborn. Maybe it’s not about a vow that you both swear to keep but a understanding that sometimes things don’t work out and sometimes they do. Maybe it’s not about saying I love you every second of every day but showing that love in the simplest of ways like “call me when you get home so I know you’re safe.” Maybe, just maybe you’ve been looking for love in all the wrong places and maybe even the wrong people. Maybe the kind of love that you are so hell bound on searching for is taking your pills without no one reminding you or dying your hair the color of the sky because that’s the only time when you feel closest to your real self. Maybe the kind of love that you are searching for in another person is already right in front of you when you look in the mirror. Maybe that’s where you’ll find your one true love. Maybe it isn’t a her or him or someone but a you, maybe just maybe you can find the love that you long for in yourself and maybe just maybe if you’re lucky enough you’ll also meet a person who makes your heart dance in the rain. Maybe that’s what love is, loving yourself or maybe it’s not. I don’t know but when I do I’ll let you know.

you are allowed to hate the things that bring you pain

The next time you  have your coffee black  you’ll taste the bitter  state he left you in  it will make you weep  but you’ll never  stop drinking  you’d rather have the  darkest parts of him  than have nothing.

You built a castle in your mind and you lock yourself up there believing that you’ll be safe from the ugliness of the world. You agree with the masses even though you don’t understand what they mean; you spend your life in a bubble and let them blind you with their ideas of what’s right and wrong you say “Ignorance is bliss” I say life is so much better.

And please understand that I will never get tired of listening to the songs of your lonely heart— even if I failed to understand it sometimes.

I’m writing again. You know what that means, don’t you? There’s an ache in my chest that needs to be spilled onto pages.

But please don’t leave someone wondering what they have done wrong.” he said. “Don’t just walk away and make them feel that they will never be enough. As if they were just some pieces of paper fallen out of your notebook. As if they were just a flower you took out of your vase.” he looked at her. With sadness in his eyes—with pain showing in the way he speaks. Then he continued, “Please. If you can avoid it, just please don’t hurt people that way.

Hello. My name is Hollow. I live inside your soul. Under the layers and layers of skin, and tissue and muscle… all the way down where nothing and everything survives. (I wish I knew before I trusted you That lying is second nature to one with as many regrets as you.) My name is Hollow. I live inside you now, because you gave me the power in all your virtuous belief that the world was good to survive your strength… (I hoped to God you wouldn’t lie or steal or break what is already a thousand pieces of a broken soul.) My name is Hollow. You let me in when sex began to feel like an ache. But the pain felt better than dealing with the hurt inside your head, your heart… (This was always a world for those that were harder than me Strength is sometimes a very relative thing.) My name is Hollow. I am the jagged lines you draw all along your muscles, your muscles, your bones… Like the sharp edge of a knife, the scarlet drops of remorse. (Here’s a question now for your soul: How many times can a broken thing break?) … (Let’s see, shall we?)

Eventually, I stopped forgiving you every time you hurt me because tears can’t fix heartbreak. You say you would take a bullet for me, but I keep getting shot in the chest… And you aren’t trying to save me.

“Maybe when we’re older.” We whisper, As if time has ever solved any of our problems before. “Maybe then we’ll see this more clearly, and we’ll do all the things we’ve ever wanted to do. We’ll be the people we’ve always needed ourselves to be.”

What if Cinderella had an attitude problem and Snow White liked cider too much? What if Ariel enjoyed human company more than her own kind’s and Aurora just liked her solitude more than the human touch? What if the only rabbit hole Alice ever fell down involved a pipe and a substance not discussed as such? What if they locked Wendy up for hallucinating about Neverland and a boy who never grew up? What if fairytales weren’t as innocent as they sounded and even princesses weren’t perfect? What if I told you your damage doesn’t define you and the way you survive is no one else’s damned business?