When you don’t want to be complaining all the time so you don’t talk about how ill you feel, but then everyone forgets that you’re actually ill and expects more of you, because you never mention it.
(via foreverfightingfibro)
When you wake up late.
When you procrastinate.
When you fail yourself.
When you fail others.
When you can’t leave the house.
When you’re late paying bills.
When you don’t have a job.
When you’re failing in school.
When you’re not pleasing your parents.
When you hurt yourself.
When you hurt others.
When you lie to yourself.
When you lie to others.
When you love the wrong person.
When you make the same mistake.
When you feel defeated.
When you lose your temper.
When the last time turns into a time again.
When you cheat yourself.
When you’re not good to yourself.
When you don’t have a plan.
When you feel hopeless.
When you hate yourself.
When you’re impatient.
When you tell yourself to give up.
When you stop believing in yourself.
When you lose faith.
When you doubt yourself.
When you forget to say I love you.Forgive yourself.
ONE MORE TIME FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK
i needed this
(via staypozitive)
We are all endlessly soft for someone.
You would love them in the middle of the night if they came to your door, slurring and bloodshot. You would love them in the middle of a war with carnage all around you, gunpowder coating your lips. You would love them sick, tired, full of hate. You would love love love them. Endlessly. Your nerve endings are exhausted from begging you to stop. But loving them is like lighting yourself on fire, it is the most beautiful pain you can imagine.
For everyone else, you are the girl who runs with wolves, howling at the moon, all strength and fight and pride.
But for them, you lay at their feet like a stray dog. Running after them begging for scraps of their affection. Love could turn to hate, poisoned with harsh words and still you’d stay; whimpering love me, love me, love me.
Maybe there are people who stay inside us, haunting the space between our ribs but never solid enough to wrap their phantom hands around our hearts. Their presence leaves you breathless some days. Suffocating you with their sheer thereness. Because they are there, in everything. It has been weeks, months, years, but they move your pen as though they are next to you still.
