your sexuality is valid even if
- you’ve only been in heterosexual relationships
- you’ve only been in homosexual relationships
- you’ve never had sex with a guy
- you’ve never had sex with a girl
- you’ve never had sex at all
- you’re heteroromantic
- you’re homoromantic
- you’re aromantic
- you find yourself preferring one gender over another
YOUR FEELINGS ARE VALID. YOUR SEXUALITY IS VALID. DO NOT LET PEOPLE SHAME YOU OR TELL YOU OTHERWISE.
This Is So Valid.
Two days ago, I wanted to call you, but I didn’t. Someone asked what I would say if I did, I guess this is what I would say.
“Hey, how are you? I hope you’re doing well. How is your family? How are you and the new guy? Do you still cry? I bet you do. Does it still hurt? I know I do. Did you smile today? I think I did. Did you sleep well? I didn’t.”
And it would be short and filled with my long sighs and things that I would never say;
as if each sigh was a chapter that you skimmed through because you loved to read books that had a piece of you in every line, as if each love letter I’ve ever written was that gasp from deep within my chest trying to touch your cheeks, and as if each poem that I’ve created from your image could swallow the small memories and fine details that you’ve left inside of me.
And I would tell you that I miss you. Like it’s not the same sleeping on this bed, this bed that knows your body better than I knew my pillows. The smell from your washed hair is no longer here, I figured it out. I took out the bobby pins that you left at my place, they say that’s how women mark their territory. They all smell like you. I finally understand, the little details of the past will only haunt if I let it. And I would tell you that I missed you. The blanket makes room for two, but it’s only me. I guess even fabric gets confused about us too.
And I would tell you that I love you. Like it’s not the same when I’m at home without you. Because I made a home out of a person when I should have made a home out of me. Out of my own arms, out of my own smile and out of my own heart. Your love doesn’t know how to leave my maze and I have lab rats inside the cracks of my heart trying to figure out the exact same thing. Like how love was made out of something pure, but soon learned how to be something lethal, a shade of a deadly plant and a kiss from laced lips; there’s not much of a difference, we make poison just for us. I guess even my tongue tries to spell your name.
And I would tell you that I couldn’t use love in a past tense because everyday still feels like a present moment to me, it’s just a moment without you. And I have to live with that.
I guess even my hands look for you underneath this blanket, even my eyes look for you in the mirror, even my lips tend to remember mouthing your name, even my legs try to run towards you and even I have a hard time trying to control myself when you’re not around.
I guess, that’s probably a good thing.
It’s a good thing that you’re not around.
Two days later, I still want to call you, but I won’t. And I won’t be okay, but I’ll live.// k.c. (via poetryleftbyher)
and my heart awoke from
hibernating, from rehabilitating,
from coping and being broken
that it almost ripped my ribs
open to fly out of my chest,
she almost made me confess
that sunlight lives in her rays
of distress, almost made me hide
behind faded smoke, provoked
a livelihood inside veins like a pulse,
a pulse, like there hadn’t been a pulse
for years, only fears, only dripping tears,
and just so we’re clear, she’s heaven sent
and I’m hell bent from everything and
anything, I’ve never been content,
but her laugh makes me feel more
than I’d like to admit,
but she almost made me admit,
she’s warmth and fire, my desire,
she’s black and blue, my solid truth,
because,
I love you.That’s why. (via ariansun)