Expunged

poemsfallfrommycursedlips:

Was it enough to dismember me?
Blunt instruments
rusted, rough,
chipped from striking bone
excruciating, you excarnated.
I was left without longing
without excess feeling
no more raw nerves exposed
pain of existence purged.
In this emotionless era
my face is a mask
flesh a disguise
a chest locked, mysterious
holding nothing.

I’m eighteen. I want to be a mother. I need that for myself. Not now, maybe not five years from, maybe not event ten years from now but it’s just something that I know about myself. This is a hard fact. I want to be a mother. The need and excitement for me to have a daughter and/or a son is something that I think people find difficult to understand. Still, I know in the deepest part of my heart that I love the kids, my kids, though I have not yet met them. And I’m terrified of the day I actually get to hold them because I worry my heart will break from all my waiting love. I know I sound fucking insane but at the same time I know this is the most honest and sane part of me. I want to adopt a child. Once I can provide a stable home I want to go through that process, no matter how long, expensive, or gruelling because I know that I have been waiting my entire life to meet this little person whose heart I want to hold.

"What Is Love? I have met in the streets a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat worn, the water passed through his shoes and the stars through his soul"

- Victor Hugo (via kingsrow)

"When you have nothing left to say to me, say it anyway."

- I Wrote This For You: The Voice In The Back Of My Heart (via creatingaquietmind)