“You never bother me. It’s just that lately between Monday and Friday my soul goes on hiatus and I’m just a working machine.”—Young woman on a cell phone waiting for a delayed train in Washington DC’s Gallery Place station. (via livesintransit)
“Some do drugs, others go out for a run, but at the end we’re all just searching for that tiny space, perhaps a hole, that gives us shelter from the terrible reality of the world.”—Unknown (via dissapointedz)
“I stay up just late enough until I am just exhausted enough that I can fall into my bed and sink into immediate slumber. Because I can’t stand lying in a bed in a dark room alone with just my thoughts for so many hours and hours.”—Unknown (via wet-violet)
“You will steal glances at them from across the room and wonder when the sight of that smile will stop breaking cocoons in your stomach, stop making tornadoes in your head, stop sending poems shuddering down your spine.”—Sanam (alfaazkibarsaat)
I am Courtney. I have hair the color of my mothers and skin the color of my fathers. I have the Irish green eyes of my fathers grandmother and the native nose of my mothers Seminole-Creek father. My hands have written thousands of poems. My face has been scarred by acne, my ears have listened to EVERY cruel comment someone made about it. My lips have been kissed by people I think about every day.
My skin is skewed with stretchmarks and tattoos and scars.
You’re right. I am not pretty. There is so much more to me than a 6 letter word used to summarize beauty.