I am in love with a girl. This girl has bright green eyes and lovely brown hair. Her smile could light up cities and her laugh could warm hearts. I am love with a girl that’s stubborn and sarcastic. She’s silly and rebellious and funny and inappropriate. She’s also the sweetest, most caring person I’ve ever encountered. It is an absolute privilege to have fallen in love with this girl. She makes my rainy days bright and my sunny days brighter. She makes me look forward to tomorrow, because it’ll be one day closer to meeting her. I am in love with a girl that lives about 300 miles away. I would walk those 300 miles just to see her for 5 minutes. I am in love with a girl that deserved so much better than me and now she can finally have better. She is the greatest person I have ever talked to and she is the most flawless girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. She has had a beautiful soul, mind, personality, body, face, everything. She is what perfection is. I am in love with a girl and have been for 356 days. I still and always will feel the same about this girl. She is my sun, moon, and all my stars. She’s the one I can see myself drinking tea with on the kitchen floor at 3 am talking about anything and everything. She’s the one I can be myself around and the one O trust with my life. I am in love with a girl that’s voice is my favorite melody. She can say anything and I find it absolutely adorable for the simple fact that she’s the one saying it. She’s wonderful and incredible and everything anyone could ever want in person. I am in love with a girl, and I always will be.
I hope you read this. (via tohavescarlessskin)

I wrote seventeen poems
the day you left
on my upper thigh
in black sharpie
and laid still
in bed for six days
until the ink
wore off

I thought
for a moment
to get the words
tattooed onto
my skin
but I have a problem
with things that
claim to be permanent:

they aren’t

so I wrote poems
over indentations
in my legs
watching the black
tar penetrate old
and new skin
like fertilizing
a battle field
of stretch marks
and scars

It has been three years
two summers
and I have
dyed my hair
dark so you
would not
recognize me
if you ever saw me again
but the poems
still remain
in sharpie
underneath flowing skirts
and bathing suits
that I buy but never wear:

you promised me
that you would love me
for the rest of my life
but like the sharpie that fades
or tattoos that burn;
nothing is permanent
words only leave stains
that are barely legible
but always there-

and everything hurts .

I Wrote Seventeen Poems the Day You Left (Why Can I Not Let Go) by LeahJuliett (via be-free-barbie)

I like boys.
I like the way they talk.
I like the way the always try to impress you.
I like that sometimes they are a little clueless.
I like boy’s with muscles.
I like boy’s a good sense of style.
I like boys.
That’s never been a secret.
I express it freely whether it’s giggling over how one called me cute
or making extremely inappropriate sexual comments about one to my mother.

But I love her hair.
I love the way her hands fit into mine like the last two puzzle pieces.
I love the way she gets crinkles by her eyes
When she tells me my jokes are dumb.
I love the way she calls me when she’s drunk
Just so she can sing me a song that reminded her of me.
I love the way she always seems to smell good.
I love the way she argues with me about everything.
I love the way she plays with my hair.
I love the way she puts her hand on me as a reminder that I am not fighting this war alone.
I love that no matter what my mother says to her
She still loves me.

I like boys.
But I love her.

Indigo Storm. (via thetalkingcigarette)

You Don’t Know

You don’t know it
And you probably never will
But you make me smile
And blush
You make me flustered
You make me stutter
I get nervous around you
And hope you don’t think I’m stupid
I want to show you
How you make me feel
But I’m afraid you won’t feel the same
You’ll never know
How you drive me crazy