Only you, and you alone
Only you can make me whole
Take my heart, my heart belongs to you

—Sunrise Avenue (via lieberliebe)

when i was a child i was taught that
“needs improvement”
was something to be ashamed of

i taught myself to believe that “good”
is not good enough
and that if i am not “super”
i am nothing

so when the days came where
i was no longer told
that i was as “super” as i felt
i began to fall down to good
and find parts of myself that
needed improvement
and the idea of not being okay
has never been okay to me

every day i have to learn
i have to teach myself that
“needs improvement”
means you’re getting there
and maybe “good” is your best
and there is no shame in that

you can’t compare your insides
with other people’s outsides and
i wish i had learned that sooner
because maybe then
stopping
would be a plausible feat

—e.f. // reeducation  (via efpoems)

(via gracioussmind)

youreworththesacrifice:

bowariella:

yungswaqq:

F*ck reblogging half naked girls, this is beautiful

for all the people who think they wont find someone to love them, flaws and all…

I can never not reblog this.

(Source: mynameiscollins, via zusammen-wachsen)

I drink until there is more alcohol in my veins than blood, because that’s the only way I can hear your voice anymore.

—(242/365) by (DS)

(via waffenschrank)

I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.

—Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis (via feellng)

(Source: feellng, via gratisangst)

At thirteen I started crying as silently as my wrists
started bleeding. I never understood why I always
felt too heavy, like I was buried under bricks and no
matter how much weight I lost, I felt like I took up too
much space in this room, in this world. I never
understood why I pushed the word sadness out of my
mind and convinced myself that I was fine even when
I was sitting in a bathtub full of my own blood. I never
understood why I walked around with a mask that some
people called a smile, and why I always felt like a fraud
at the end of the day. I never understood the way happiness
was suppose to feel and how people could call it a choice
because fuck, if it is a choice I wouldn’t be staring at the
walls wondering why I’m even breathing. I never felt loved
and I thought it was something I’d feel after letting him into
my bed, but after kissing boys whose lips I knew better than
their own personality, I still felt nothing but numb. I never understood why I was afraid of the doctor and afraid of
being told I was clinically depressed. The day the news
broke I still didn’t comprehend it, was I going to be like
this forever?
Four years later, two medications, sessions of therapy,
my wrists no longer bleed but my soul does.
I’m seventeen now, and I still don’t understand.

i.c. // ”clinically depressed” (via delicatepoetry)

oh my fucking god this

(via suchtprinzip)

(via gratisangst)

I think I forgot who I really am. And when I try to remember, everything fades. Please, tell me who I really am. I can no longer live with this pain. Please, tell me who I am.

yasmin (via soulsscrawl)

(via gratisangst)

Who gives a shit if you don’t finish college. Who gives a shit if you marry young. Who gives a shit if you say ‘fuck the world’ and go against everything your parents want. Do what makes YOU happy. And don’t you dare give a shit about what anybody else thinks.

—(via mynameispride)

(Source: cr-est, via gratisangst)

period by KRUNK Interactive