Even Here

it gets under your skin sometimes
this itching
this sadness
and even on sunny days
it appears
holding you back from the joy of open windows
and legs stretching out of cars.

but this thing has no name
and when its there you want it gone
and you try to write it out
or put it into words
but nothing makes sense and nothing
looks right on paper.

you want to be lonely
you will always want to be alone.

— "alone" // esperanza friel  (via speioritur)

hellkatsally:

ultrafacts:

Source More Facts HERE

These dudes are fucking legit.  They don’t just show up one day in court, either, they actually make friends with the kids and let them know they have a support system and that there are people in the world who care about them and will always have their back.  And less important, but also cool, is that the few times a couple of them have come into my cafe, they’ve been super friendly and polite and when I told one of the guys that I noticed his Bikers Against Child Abuse patch and wanted him to know how awesome I thought he was because of it, he got kind of shy and blushed and said, “The kids are the awesome ones, we just let them know they’re allowed to be brave.”

I long to talk with some old lover’s ghost,
Who died before the god of love was born.
I cannot think that he, who then lov’d most,
Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn.
But since this god produc’d a destiny,
And that vice-nature, custom, lets it be,
I must love her, that loves not me.

Sure, they which made him god, meant not so much,
Nor he in his young godhead practis’d it.
But when an even flame two hearts did touch,
His office was indulgently to fit
Actives to passives. Correspondency
Only his subject was; it cannot be
Love, till I love her, that loves me.

But every modern god will now extend
His vast prerogative as far as Jove.
To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend,
All is the purlieu of the god of love.
O! were we waken’d by this tyranny
To ungod this child again, it could not be
I should love her, who loves not me.

Rebel and atheist too, why murmur I,
As though I felt the worst that love could do?
Love might make me leave loving, or might try
A deeper plague, to make her love me too;
Which, since she loves before, I’am loth to see.
Falsehood is worse than hate; and that must be,
If she whom I love, should love me.

John Donne, Love’s Deity. 

ohhdamn-little-wildroses:

❀
9th:

[UNDERCOVER S/S 2014]
ladiscarica:

(by Christian Pitschl)
lehroi:

Esben Bøg
Behold, I stand at the door and knock, but ye will not open;
Ye will not come unto me, and taste of life;
All day I wait with mine outstreched arms, and ye will not enter;
I fain would fold you beneath my wings, but ye will not come.
—  Sarah Williams, Baal.