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Je m'appelle Rebecca & Don't judge me too harshly. Tumblr is where I show the side I can't show the world. The side that cusses, hates, loves, and feels way too strongly. I'm just a moody teenager, and this is my outlet. Peace, Love, and Fuck the Rest.
"And if you look a little closer, you’ll see that if a person believes that life is terrible, they’ll constantly look for proof of this, to confirm their view of the world. They’ll find quotes and situations and events in their life and magnify them a hundred times. If a person believes that life is wonderful, they’ll look for the corresponding signage and behave in a similar manner to the previous person with their view of the world. Often, this is the same person on different days of the week."
— I Wrote This For You: The Falling Or Rising
(Source: anditslove, via leccamarina)
PEEEEENNIIIISSSSSSSS :D
Anonymous
Watch your mouth, this is a house of learned doctors!
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mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.: In the Silences (or, What I'm Thinking When I Refuse to Tell You What I'm Thinking)
If no one has ever looked at you
the way I am looking at you,
then no one has ever seen you.
Your eyelids are kingfisher wings.
Your voice is what people write
harmonica solos about.
That 3am interstate tremor.
Each inky pinprick across
your arms and chest
forms a monument to…
"
-Nightlight-
They found a nightlight,
Plugged into your wall.
We never knew
That you were afraid of the dark.
It threw shadows across your room
That children would see monsters in.
We couldn’t help but wonder
what demons you saw in silhouette.
They said the walls seemed
A little less sturdy that day,
The ceiling, a little lower.
Vanessa quit smoking,
Because now cigarettes remind her
Of cremations.
Ryan kept looking for your note,
Imagining a sign, written in thick black ink
Until he found it,
In the back of an old sketchbook.
It was written in pencil,
And didn’t answer any questions.
Tom stopped making eye contact,
Said he’s been seeing everything a little darker lately.
He bought a nightlight yesterday.
Your mother took all your drawings
Off the refrigerator,
Threw them into boxes like coffins,
Her hands seemed to age faster than the rest of her:
Every day they looked a little more like tombstones
With past-tense death dates.
Your father smashed his fists through the bathroom mirror,
As though the bandages could hold back his grief.
He became the kind of man you see from a distance.
Neither one of them cried at your funeral.
Neither did we.
The pews filled up with faces hewn from marble,
As a man who never knew you gave your eulogy,
In a church that you had never prayed in.
Everyone mouthed the hymns,
Because it seemed disrespectful to sing.
We all stared, stoically,
At that face in the casket.
It wasn’t quite your face.
I’d never seen you in a suit before.
And we sat, trying to imagine ourselves
Carved from marble,
from cedar, from oak,
As if someone could chisel us unfeeling.
And outside, as Vanessa smoked her last cigarette,
We all whispered our atheist’s prayers
Until our hands were shaking like our voices.
They sounded so hollow:
There’s only so much you can say in a whisper.
— Chris Leja
"And that is when I know… that is when I understand that it’s better to feel the ache inside me like demons scratching at my heart than it is to feel numb, the way a dead body feels when you touch it. It’s better to wait for the beautiful things… to stare at them for as long as they last… to hold on as tight as you can before they disappear. And it might hurt so bad inside… but it’s better to wait for the next beautiful thing than never look for any again."
— Perfect World (Brian James)
(Source: wordsthat-speak, via wordsthat-speak)
