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i just need someone to cuddle with me and tell me everything will be fine and tell me they love me and i need someone to stand in the shower with quietly, i need someone to massage my shoulders and i need someone to kiss my nose and make me smile is that so hard to understand?
Being a cutter


Being a cutter is funny because you think you haven’t cut in a while you’re getting better, you’re in the clear..

But no it’s always there just because you haven’t cut in a while just means you’re due another session because the urge never leaves does it? There’s no way out is there?

Reblog if it’s okay to befriend you, ask questions, ask for advice, rant, vent, let something off your chest, or just have a nice chat.

"You don’t think you’re beautiful," he stated, a little speechless. "Did anyone ever tell you that you were anything, but?"

She shakes her head. “Maybe on some days, I do feel some kind of wonderful. But the moment I start to think I am, my thoughts tell me other wise. I don’t think I’m good enough for that title. Beautiful people have golden hearts. They aren’t monsters and skeletons don’t hang in their closet and ghosts don’t dance around their graves. I, on the other hand seem to hold the shovel while digging alone. And beautiful people just look beautiful. Their teeth glisten and their eyes smile when they laugh, too. They don’t have hair they wish they could tame and eyes that are too tired. Because I am overly tired. There is just so much wrong with me, so much chaos on my mind. And some nights, there is nothing left in me to be called beautiful.”

He looked at her, “Oh but you are, but you refuse to see it. These tired eyes of yours won’t be restless forever. They will see what I see, some day.”


A Story A Day #233 by M.D.L

(via mingdliu)
"she falls for the quiet boys
for the shy boys
with their heads tilted down
watching their feet
their hands in their pockets.
she falls for the boys with
secrets to keep
their shoulders hunched
their breathing soft
and smiles so small.
they remind her of the late-
blooming blue bells
in her grandparent’s garden.
the flowers that need
a little more water
a little bit more care
for them to grow
for them to open up.
the prospect of getting
her hands dirty,
a bit of earth on her knees
feels to her like swallowing
one bee hive after another whole.
she doesn’t mind the wind
messing up her hair,
they’re not meant to stay
still anyway, she tells herself,
the way other girls
want their’s neat and perfect.
she likes the idea
of digging deeper into him,
doesn’t mind finding nothing
at all, just wants to see
to know
and perhaps to
-MJLbecause blooming red roses die first (via mimickingmaelstroms)

Sometimes I drink too much vodka or eat 3 servings of macaroni and cheese in one sitting, but by far the most unhealthy habit I have is comparing myself to others.