Livingalifeworthliving

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You are immortal; you’ve existed for billions of years in different manifestations, because you are Life, and Life cannot die. You are in the trees, the butterflies, the fish, the air, the moon, the sun. Wherever you go, you are there, waiting for yourself.
Don Miguel Ruiz (via budddha)

(Source: lifeof-ty, via words-and-coffee)

5 notes

To be a poet is a beautiful gift. Being a poet is a true punishment of the soul. For a poet does not see the world, but feels it. I feel everything. I feel you

Jose Serrano

Hustlerdiariez.tumblr.com

Hustlerdiariez.wordpress.com

(via hustlerdiariez)

4 notes

actono:

Our hands will never touch
At least not like they used to
And our lips may never feel
Each other’s sweet embrace
Our hearts, well our hearts
Will now and forever be on a
Different beat, will they try to catch
Up to one another?
We will never know
What is for certain
Is that never again will our hand touch

33 notes

Hesitating

cloudrhythm:

It just fills the room
with how much I miss you.
I can’t breathe and surviving
is clearly possibly if I’m still
here without you.
I cannot let go but
I am happy with failing.
Who have I been before you?
It doesn’t matter if I try
or avoid it.
Whether my phone rings;
I’m…

7 notes

Flowers

half-tea-half-anxiety:

I can’t breathe and I start to choke when I think about leaving, but my mind reassures me that it’s what I need.
I don’t want to be here anymore, and I can’t seem to find a better way to say that.
I watched everyone I knew grow while I fell apart
Like a blooming flower that never got enough…

919 notes

Maybe it’s a bad thing, but all my life I’ve found it difficult to relate to anyone. I’ve had a couple of good friends, here and there, but none that I’ve just clicked with. I guess it’s because I rather stay at home on Friday nights and drink my evening tea while I write on napkins. I guess it’s because ever since I was little, I was the shy one who stood alone in line, the one who’d have no partner when the teacher said to pair up. I was the one who was weird because I was silent most the time, the one you’d only talk to in class when you needed a pen. I’m the type of person who knew the answer but didn’t raise their hand, the type of person who was talked down to but bit her tongue every time. I was pushed around, walked on like a doormat, and I never said a word. I was no one’s best friend, only when they needed something of course, then I was their favorite person in the world. Yet I don’t regret a single damn thing, because it’s made me who I am today. I’ve learned to have a low tolerance level with people now. I don’t want to surround myself with someone who laughs at poetry, mocks art, or only finds beauty in the things society deems as beautiful. I’m learning to surround myself with people like me, who see the world in a poetic light. The people who would pick a lonely daisy in a rose garden, the girls who wear caution tape as a necklace, the boys who hide under sweaters and smiles. I’ve also learned that the quietest people have the best minds, and when they open up you can read them like your favorite novel. It’s beautiful.“Isolation is not good for you,” they tell me. Yet in isolation I have discovered what I want and what I need, in isolation I realized that no one I was friends with came to pull me out of it. So I pushed them out of my life.
i.c. // “Finding friends was never easy for me.” (via delicatepoetry)

636 notes

Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It’s that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that’s what the poet does.
Allen Ginsberg (via wordsnquotes)

(via wordsnquotes)

1,041 notes

i. She’s a mere whisper away, even through the darkest of nights, bleak and thin. A whisper in which I can hear her soft exhale under the very warmth of her voice. She sighs, I sigh.
“What’re you thinking about?”
“You.”
Even when she’s over a three-thousand kilometers away, she’s here, with me, right now. It’s magic, really. There isn’t any other way of explaining it. A love like this isn’t something that can be explained through words, phrases or even thoughts – but through actions.
“Why are you so perfect?”
It’s the type of love you’d die for, yet it’s the one you never saw coming.
“I’m not. You are.”
But at the same time, it’s the one you know you deserved all along.
“I love you.”
“I love you more.”
ii. In the black, empty, room I lay in, my arms crave nothing but to be gently wrapped around his body. While lost in my thoughts, I finally break the silence.
“Do you love me?”
“Yes, of course.”
I need to hear the sweetness of his voice to feel okay, and sometimes I don’t know if it’s good or bad that the only thing I’m scared of in this world is losing him.
“I need you, here.”
They say you can’t make homes out of people, especially people miles away, yet when he let me into his heart, I never left. I rearranged the furniture, planted seeds in the cracks and made blossoms bloom in the dullest places. I stitched together the broken seams.
“I need you here, too.”
In him I found love. A love that is unlike any other, a love people like me and him searched for all our existence. We finally found it. We will never lose it.
i.c. & m.b. // “she and he”
a collaboration
(via delicatepoetry)

(via delicatepoetry)