She sounds enthusiastic even about boredom. And yet her burbly style does not ring true. I have seen her, sometimes, when she thinks I’m not looking: her face goes still, remote, unreflecting. It’s as if she’s not inside it. But then she’ll turn and laugh.
-Margaret Atwood, from Cat’s Eye (via violentwavesofemotion)
For too damn long, I’ve apologized to the men I’ve loved, for not being THAT pretty. For not being THAT skinny. For not being THIS, for not being THAT. I’ve said, “I’m sorry I’m not good enough.” Since the age of thirteen, like I say my name, it’s become the default of the question, “who are you?” I am so tired of beating myself up, tearing myself down. My body is not a goddamn temple, it’s the house I grew up in, and I don’t know why I keep trying to burn it down.
-i.c. // "Fire vs. Fire" (via delicatepoetry)
Do not talk to me about forever until you have held back my hair as I throw up my demons. Do not say that you will stay until you have seen my rotten lungs and still want to breath the same air as I do. Do not take me for granted. Do not tell me that you will love me until the sky shatters into a million pieces unless you have seen me light my whole world on fire and dance in the scorching flames. Do not tell me that this is what you want until I have broken your heart at least three times and never once handed you the glue. Do not feel like you have saved my life when I take off my make-up and you tell me I am beautiful. Do not act like I am still the sun when you discover that I am a hurricane. Do not kiss me until you understand that I have the capacity to rip out your throat. Do not assume your right to my body; it is a thing of worship and you are not worthy. Do not fall in love with me until I have slammed the door in your face. This isn’t pretty. This isn’t fun. I am unbreakable and you are a liar.
-Do not love me, I don’t need to be fixed. (via fighting-spiders)