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andrewgibby:

you keep worrying
your sadness
is taking up too much space.
i wish you’d let yourself
be the milky way.

Each time I’m asked to tell about myself, I find myself starting the same way: “My name is Kelsey and I’m nineteen..”
but what I’d really like to say is:
“My name means island of the ships but once
I found a translation that said I’m a burning shipwreck-
not a burning ship but a ship that has caught fire
after the wreckage and well, I’d say that’s more fitting.”

I’ve learned that people don’t have time for about me’s.
They need two things: a name and an indication you’re someone special.

The doctors, they want facts not details.
“I broke my leg when I was three, it’s a funny story actually-“
The right or the left?
Conversation over.

The teachers, they want interests, hobbies.
You’re sad, yes, but what do you like to do?

The adults are a spew of questions.
What school do you go to? What classes are you taking?
What do you plan on becoming? Got a boyfriend?
No, stop.

People my own age are the worst.
“I’m planning on an English degree with a concentration in creative writing.”
Yeah, aren’t we all. So how many times have you, you know,
done it?

I’m pulled apart, my interests travelling highway 2
my goals at a stop light at traffic hour,
my medical history on a billboard for the world to see.
But what about me?

Where’s the chance to say,
“I hang on to fistfuls of poetry like loose change in my pockets,
and I keep waiting for the day that the world turns upside down
so I can swim with the stars.
I’m not afraid of darkness, it’s a loneliness I can empathize with it.
It’s the blackholes like cigarette burns inside of me that get troublesome.
I walk through graveyards and read the dashes between years,
each a story I’ll never know. Sometimes I create my own.”

No wonder none of us know who we are anymore.

Kelsey Danielle, “I Was Told to Write and About Me and This is What Happened” (via pigmenting)

(via chasingthedaylight)

(Source: ernests, via loveyourchaos)

When the blood of your veins returns to the sea and the dust of your bones returns to the ground, maybe then will you remember that this earth does not belong to you, you belong to this earth.

(via thedruidsteaparty)

(via growingfromroots)

My father broke my heart long before any boy had the chance to.

(via girlchoking)

(Source: themajesticowl, via growingfromroots)

likeafieldmouse:

Mary Temple, Northwest Corner, Southeast Light

skeletales:

Above The Clouds by Wazari Wazir

skeletales:

Above The Clouds by Wazari Wazir

(via learningfromthehands)

kari-shma:

Books suspended above an entrance to the Istanbul modern art museum by Hanif Shoaei | Source 

kari-shma:

Books suspended above an entrance to the Istanbul modern art museum by Hanif Shoaei | Source 

(via learningfromthehands)