@Mp

I am a Star-Child Resident of Earth In-L♥ve with
All Random Things Considered to be Organic and Inorganic.

This blog is a reflection of my love for words.
Its purpose also is to serve as reminders and to help encourage myself
and anyone else who may need it.

"I consider myself a stained-glass window. And this is how I live my life. Closing no doors and covering no windows; I am the multi-colored glass with light filtering through me, in many different shades. Allowing light to shed and fall into many many hues. My job is not to direct anything, but only to filter into many colors. My answer is destiny and my guide is joy. And there you have me." — C. JoyBell C.

luminousatmosphere:

Me by G.D.

(A photo shoot I did for a friends college photography class.)

“ Just let it be. You may as well. Everything moves in and out at its own time. You have no control. You never did, you never will. ”

—    Byron Katie (via pocahonntas)

(via spycnsweet)

“ i’ve lost her;
the price of one
shred of sanity
in my heart
has cost
me her.
well,
she was never
truly mine,
though dreams
of her comforted
this unruly
mind.
until
my
reality
realized
her touch
could never
be
realized.
so,
now
i’ve lost
all i’ve
never known
—everything my heart
has ever craved
is as mine as
a welcomed
breeze already
blown. ”

—    1000 sunz (via 1000-sunz)

For whatever we lose
(a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves
we find in the sea.
 - E.E. Cummings

(via pigmenting)

“ We get caught in the middle of a rainstorm, which is how every romance either begins or ends. I speak your name like it’s my native language. We fishtail braid our bodies together. Sometimes I leave my tongue inside you. Sometimes the anger takes claim of my being and starts slamming doors and silent-treating you or yelling about your ex-girlfriend. It’s soft and then it’s a little bit harder. It’s easy and then I get uncomfortable when you kiss my shoulder. You play possum when you hear my key in the door. We get bored of each other. We get un-bored. I hate you and then you wear socks to bed. I hate you and then I’m desperate to touch you. I stop you half way down the stairs, hook myself around your waist, rock ever so slowly until we’re happy again. Until there is laughter again. It should be like this. Laughter. Forget serious looks, forget my wannabe sexy sashay out of my blue jeans. Smile with all your teeth. All your crooked, beautiful teeth. Keep smiling. Except for when you really can’t summon the energy. Then you can wear your grumpy face and I’ll make you scrambled eggs with milk. I know it’s your comfort food. I know your mother makes it better. It’s okay, I won’t get upset about it. I’ll call her up and tell her she raised you extraordinary. Tell her I’ve sent a bouquet of lilies to her house, addressed to the C-section scar that got you here. I do strange things like this and it bothers you sometimes. You stop inviting me out with your friends. You apologize for my behaviour at parties. Take me home early. Feel ashamed of yourself when I cry in the bathroom. Play a Jack Johnson CD ‘til I come out puffy-eyed and childlike. Hug me bear-tight. Stroke my hair for half an hour. It’s okay. It’s okay that I slam doors sometimes. It’s okay that we get bored. It’s okay that you get embarrassed of me. I’m still going to touch you lightning hot. We’re still going to make the same bad jokes. You’re learning to say sorry without making excuses. Sure, I love you. Sure, it gets hard. And then it gets softer. Then there’s your mouth at my nape again. Then my skin melts at the splash of your tongue. Oh, is it raining? Only we make the choice. We begin. We begin. We begin. ”

—    Donna-Marie Riley (via five—a—day)

“ Poems are never just poems. They’re compensating for something. Here are the words I wish I had written in crescent-moon bite marks down your neck. Here are a hundred words for “stay,” and a hundred more for “please.” Here is how I hold a pen. Here is how the pen holds me. Here are my thoughts, over-steeped in empty fervor. Here is nothing and everything all at the same time. ”

—    Fragment 5, Kristina Kutateladze (via overwhelmington)

(via deeplystained)

“ Exist slowly, gently, like these trees, like a puddle of water, like the red seat in the tram. ”

—    Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea (via leaf-fronds)

(via writtenwren)

residualrandomtarian:

"Enlightenment is a destructive process. It has nothing to do with becoming better or being happier. Enlightenment is the crumbling away of untruth. It’s seeing through the facade of pretence. It’s the complete eradication of everything we imagined to be true.” — Adyashanti

Victorian Decay (by bikeracer)