I am trying to understand the concept of a conformity-conscious freedom

It’s like this … All your life you’re yellow. Then one day you brush up against something blue, the barest touch, and voila, the rest of your life you’re green.

Tess Callahan  (via perfect)

(via x324b21x)

You were red. You liked me cause I was blue. You touched me and suddenly I was a lilac sky and you decided purple just wasn’t for you.

colors.  (via versteur)

(via pouvoires)

violentwavesofemotion:

Le Petit Soldat (1963) dir. by Jean-Luc Godard: It’s strange. When I look myself in the face…I get the feeling I don’t match what I think it’s inside.”

You are not sadness. You are not the cigarette burns on your elbows. Someone will hold you like a daffodil and you will bloom the way you’re supposed to, with no stinging burns but with a blanket of freedom.

You are worth every piece of clothing; you need not to be naked to be loved. Your body is not fat. Your body is not ugly. You are not an apology. You are a wonder created, so don’t only tell yourself that you’re beautiful in front of a broken mirror. You have to feel it in the recesses of your skin, along the line of your collarbones, in the exhales of air that linger on the edges of your lips. You have to breathe it.

Nobody has ever told you that your voice cracks beautifully, like a trusty old radio on a Sunday afternoon, and your eyes peel off the sour skin of oranges. Those are the moments when you become an unearthly phenomena, when you are not the scars on your skin or the blood between your lips.

You are a carousel ride from the moon and back and you deserve a star-crossed lover who can make you feel like so.

You have the right to feel shitty like everyone else. Every once in awhile you can smash the telephone and yell you’ve had enough—the phone booth won’t collapse and you can always break down inside; the glass will keep you and your tears will be out. And that is when you learn to love yourself.

You can choose to pick up dandelions and not make a wish, until you decide to blow it off to pieces, but unlike burning lily flowers you do not let yourself become ash. You are whole. You are worth.

Kharla M. Brillo, What every girl deserves to be told (via pouvoires)

(via pouvoires)

But if these years have taught me anything it is this: you can never run away. Not ever. The only way out is in.

Junot Díaz, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (via wordsnquotes)

(via pouvoires)

ساکنان دریا بعد از مدتی صدای امواج دریا را نمی شنوند
چه تلخ است قصه ی عـــــــــــــادت


After a while, the residents of the sea do not hear the sound of the waves.
How bitter it is, the story of routine.

Unknown (via rawfuel)

(via pouvoires)

She doesn’t really want to go far, she just wants the solitude, the public solitude, of the street; the un-company of passing strangers, no one embracing her, no one looking with compassion and wonder into her eyes, no one marvelling at her.

Michael Cunningham, The Snow Queen (via distantheartbeats)

Forgive the trees
for the way they can’t stop shaking
even after all these years of practice.
Forgive yourself
for the days you don’t even want to try.

Y.Z, a dying art  (via unusedurl)

(via pouvoires)

I would dance with you
even when my soles have band-aids:
Stepping my right foot on your right,
my left palm on the bruises
you got from the tragedies out of loving.
We are fault lines clashing
and we no longer need spaces
only meant for lonely continents to exist.
We are both too dry to become that,
when the rain falls hard, our cracks
closes up like a zipper getting a fix.
Fingertips to fingertips we are nothing
but whole and I am yours like this:
Like closing, like every brick of a house
facing a storm proving it is a home,
like band-aids plastered on open wounds
to keep it half-healing, and me
letting you heal the other halves
of the both of us. I am yours,
to every dance you are afraid to go to
and you are mine,
to every slow song that plays
as though it plays forever.
This is how we have each other.
This is how we know we are saved.

Kharla M. Brillo, Let’s Take It Slow (via pouvoires)

(via pouvoires)

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