CHAMPAGNE VEINS

the bags under my eyes are prada

I am sorry for filling you with beer and bad thoughts and then asking you why you shook. I am sorry for pinching you, for hitting you, for bruising the thin-skinned parts of you. I am sorry for the names I called you when we were fighting. You are not ugly. You are not useless. You would not be better off gone. I’m sorry for almost throwing you out into the street because my sadness was too much for me. I’m sorry for carving my fingernails into your thigh and then resenting the way people asked, “How’d that happen?” I’m sorry for plucking you and nicking your calves with drugstore razors. I’m sorry I let some people see you in the moonlight. They didn’t deserve to know the color of your hips like I do. I’m sorry for leaving you convulsing over a toilet bowl over some boy. I’m sorry I did not thank you for simply trying to take me where I wanted to go. I’m sorry I screamed at you to shrink, shrink, shrink when all you could do was grow. I’m sorry that this apology is ten years too late. I’m sorry that it will probably come again. I’m sorry that I do not treat anybody else as poorly as I have treated you. I’m sorry that I am constantly learning how to love you, when you have never once doubted how you feel about me. I’m sorry in ways I have not yet learned to communicate.

An Apology to My Body | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)

(via lora-mathis)

drewwilsonphoto:


You found paradise in the Pacific Northwest. Somewhere between that mountain range and the stress stuffed in every corner of your brain. The mist blew across your face and you forgot every anxious thought you’ve ever had. All those lost opportunities and loves. All those days missed hiding in the comfort of your mind. You sat on the front porch of your consciousness and you could finally breathe.

drewwilsonphoto:

You found paradise in the Pacific Northwest. Somewhere between that mountain range and the stress stuffed in every corner of your brain. The mist blew across your face and you forgot every anxious thought you’ve ever had. All those lost opportunities and loves. All those days missed hiding in the comfort of your mind. You sat on the front porch of your consciousness and you could finally breathe.

(via d-artle)

champagne-veins:

i sketched this last night when i was supposed to be studying for the sat

champagne-veins:

i sketched this last night when i was supposed to be studying for the sat

"You nod your head as you
ruffle the silk that barely
shields my rotting bones,
you promise that “I am not alone,”
that “shit happens,”
and that it’s “just another thing I will
have to get over.”
But I can’t seem to
brush the bruises away
and no matter how much I claw
at the strangled images,
they refuse to fray,
and maybe,
this is not supposed to be
“just another thing,”
because when he dug his
fingers down my spine,
he spread my arms wider than
my heart could reach,
and while grasping at my stomach,
he did not fail to glare through my
now transparent eyes
before scavenging my soul
for something he would not find.
And I can admit that
I did not say “no,”
but I most certainly,
did not say “yes.”“

  This is not consent    via champagne-veins

We are sitting on your bed, there is distance between us and the silence is suffocating me. I am holding my knees to my chest. My body is shaking; you are quiet. I ask you if you still love me, and you tell me that you are not sure that you ever did.

—Mariah Gordon-Dyke, The Best, and the Worst Day (via larmoyante)