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pol-ar-ity · 4 years

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So yeah, sue me for falling in love with your snore and the way you talk with your hands. It’s not like it was a conscious choice, like I looked at you one day and thought ‘huh, yeah, you seem like a good one to fall for.’ I didn’t wake up and miss your hair between my fingers suddenly - it grew over time.

Look. I want to get this right with you. You and your ocean blue eyes and crinkled forehead and gap between your teeth. You and a silky voice and hands that dance around my hips when I cook us dinner. You, you, you. If we’re gonna do this, I have to learn how to stop burning cities down and enjoy the skyscrapers for what they are.

It’s 3 am and you’re taking up the whole bed. You’re a light sleeper, but I don’t want to wake you up. I stay small and imagine what you’re thinking about. What that incredible mind has dreamt up. You are fascinating to me, from your pet peeves to your favorite color (lavender). Maybe you’re dreaming of me. Probably not, but I’d like to think so.

So this is how it goes. A delicate dance between not enough and too much. But believe me when I say that you are a chance I will never regret taking. The world is going to fall to pieces. I want you there with me when it burns down.

“it’s gonna hurt when you leave”

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amazonbxtch · 7 years

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HOLY SHIT MY FAVORITE BLOG LIKED MY POST @thewordsyouneverunderstood 😍❤️

#thewordsyouneverunderstood

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ryanwithlions · 7 years

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9, 10

9. tag 5 blogs you admire.@mycrumplednotebook @gabrielgadfly @teacup13 @poetryriot @thewordsyouneverunderstood10. what does writing mean to you?writing is how i find my own light, it's how i move forward along my path. it's also the way i share my light with everyone else. all i want to be is a beacon, and help guide you. i want to make you feel things.

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kidxrio-blog · 7 years

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How many things we kick underneath our doormats just to delusively prove that there is a way to keep moving forward.

thewordsyouneverunderstood

#quotes #poetry #aesthetic #grunge #pastel #alternative

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welcome-toblackparade · 7 years

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“We’re sitting around a circle talking about the worst thing we’ve ever done.  When it’s my turn to tell the story- I lie.  I don’t tell them about your 60 missed calls and the 12 text messages in which you begged me to fight for love as much as you were willing to die for it. I forget to tell the part where you lose who you are over me for some time. How you pick up your old habits. How you started drinking on the weekends and how they turned to weekdays. I don’t even tell them that I never apologized. I skip the part where you swore to yourself that you’d never love anyone else like me because it’s not the kind of story I want to tell.  Because when they ask me about the worst thing I have ever done, it always comes back to you. I wonder how you’re doing and if maybe you’ve found it in yourself to forgive me.  When they ask me about the worst thing I’ve ever done, I spare the time of the details. I jump to the biggest thing, I tell them that I wasn’t deserving of a love like that. That I destroyed the one person who loved me above anything else. I tell them that you set the world on fire for me and I looked the other way.”

It’s you / @thewordsyouneverunderstood (via thewordsyouneverunderstood)

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fiercekaye · 9 years

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I wish I knew how to be happy to hear that you’re being a much better person for her. But I don’t know how to be. I just keep thinking of how awful you were to me. I keep thinking of all the times I fell asleep with my heart broken because of you. I remember the first time it happened. I was sitting in the backseat of my mothers car and you sent me a text that read, ‘I’m sorry but I think I love her.’ I buried my head between my knees and tried to not break down in my mother’s car but I couldn’t do it. I cried all the way home that night. That first time, wasn’t even close to the last. There is a long list of goodbyes that are signed with your name. You’ve always done the leaving. You wake up sometimes and you decide that I am not enough, that I am too much, that you don’t love me as much as you thought you did, that you didn’t love me at all, not ever. It never hurts less, no matter how many times you say it or how many times you leave me standing there alone. It never hurts less. So when I hear that you’re being a much better person for her, I can’t help but wonder why I wasn’t worth a great war. I keep trying to figure out why I was never deserving enough of a home you called yours in my heart. Why couldn’t you love me?

#thewordsyouneverunderstood

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pol-ar-ity · 4 years

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It’s just boring, you know? You want me, but you don’t. You like me, then you don’t. You can never make a fucking decision, even if your life depends on it. And I’m so tired of being a decision you choose not to make. You talk circles around me, make me feel special without having to commit. You give yourself the opportunity to say goodbye the second you’re bored or over it. You never say what you’re feeling because you’re so disconnected from anything remotely related to feeling. And it’s... boring. I’ve done this before. I’ve put myself through hell, walked through fire, for people who can’t give themselves to me. But today, with you, that ends. I’m taking my chance and running. I’m picking my heart up off the floor and bolting out the door without looking back. I’m saving my tomorrow for something bigger than you. So you miss me. That’s not my problem anymore.

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rissaroo132 · 9 years

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New Poem

I just posted a great poem by a very talented poet on my blog. Go check it out and checkout her tumblr blog!

https://theredhydrant.wordpress.com/category/new-poets/

@thewordsyouneverunderstood

#thewordsyouneverunderstood #theredhydrant #poem

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a-confusedwriter · 9 years

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you're a wonderful writer !

thank you! x

#answered #thewordsyouneverunderstood

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dreamofwhat · 9 years

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I can’t sleep anymore and I don’t know what’s making my body ache, the desire for drugs or the thought of you sleeping in someone else’s bed. I thought of you in a heart that’s not my own and I relapsed that night, walked all the way to the ocean and held myself. I was shaking, didn't know if it was you or all the shit in my veins. I wanted to call you and tell you that this is what you've made of me, that this is how much it hurts. I wanted to tell you that because the taste of your lips lingers in my mouth and the sound of your voice lingers in my head I have lost my mind. I have lost myself.

collab with Aba (thewordsyouneverunderstood)

#thewordsyouneverunderstood #writing #poetic #poetry

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little-miss-tragedy · 10 years

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You are a beautiful writer, please never stop writing . xoxox

Thank you so much. that means a lot to me.~

#thewordsyouneverunderstood #answered

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pol-ar-ity · 4 years

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‘What’s the best sex you’ve ever had?’ I ask, because I’m a masochist. I ask because I’m hopeful that you’ll say this. This is it. This is the best.

‘Last summer,’ you say. My heart drops into my stomach. I set myself up for this. ‘What about you?’ you ask innocently.

I pretend to think about it. It’s you, it’s always you, that’s the shitty truth. But I don’t want to seem stupid, so I lie and say he was 30 and I was 20 and it was amazing. You nod and don’t look sad. I swallow the lump in my throat.

This whole thing is just a slow way of breaking my heart. There’s no love on your end, just craving and kissing and fucking. I hold your hand under the table when you rest it on my leg, and you don’t pull away, and I think, ‘ohmygod, maybe I’m not a total idiot.’ But then you move and don’t touch me for the rest of the night. Punishment. Purgatory. Pathetic.

I stumbled into this knowing that I was going to get hurt. But I did it anyway. ‘It would be an honor to have my heart shattered by you,’ I thought, as I heard you snore quietly next to me, your arm resting on my hip. I curled into you and you kissed my back, half-awake. Goosebumps broke out everywhere, but I kept my breathing steady.

This is how it will end. I’ve mapped it out in every single way, but the ending is always the same: you leave. You lose my number and stop coming over and I am left to pick up the pieces of my chest and place them haphazardly back into place. You won’t care. You won’t look back.

And I’ll miss you, no matter what. So, just know: if you turn around, my hand is always empty for you.

“it’s always been you and it’s never been me”

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pol-ar-ity · 4 years

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Quiet now. I have something to say. Something to share with you.

This is what happens when you slum it. I kill the oxy in one night and drive to a house in the hills. The lights blind my dilated pupils.

I’ve always been a trip, always a risk. When the smoke clears, all that’s left is my intention. My white lies become promises.

Toxicity breeds toxicity, though, and that’s how I ended up here. I lost myself in the game of cat and mouse. I thought I was better. I thought I had a handle on the situation. But the hand you bite always comes back to haunt you.

So, I pick at scabs until they scar and then wonder why I don’t change. You can’t grow when you’re still falling to rock bottom. Even then, it’s easier to build a bed there than to claw your way out.

This is all a long-winded way of saying: I’m not sorry. I should be.

But I never learn from my mistakes.

“enjoy your ride - for now”

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pol-ar-ity · 4 years

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I cry in motel parking lots

The end of May has come and gone again.

You always said that I was meant for more than this

You always said, but you never meant

This used to be a home of mine

But March has never been that kind to me

The city sleeps at night but I am wide awake

The city's still, so still, I wait.

I count the minutes since you told me you were leaving

And "this time, this time I swear it's real"

You shrugged the hail off of your shoulders

And it sent shivers down my spine

There were no words, I couldn't feel.

This time you mean it, this time you mean it.

I only sleep so I forget

That February tends to pass me by

I miss the smog, I miss the ocean

I miss your consistent presence

I always look back on memories

While I stand stoic and waiting, the terminal is full

It's strange to know all these people hope to escape

The remnants of their baggage from May

Instead of a parking lot

I sit on folded sheets

In an empty room that smells of cigarettes and pool chlorine

And there's a bible in the drawer

I've never picked it up before

I'm finally left alone to grieve

Your departure and all it meant to me

Doesn't matter where I go

My shirts still smell of your cologne

And I'm never completely alone.

You’re with me everywhere I go.

— it’s been eight years and i still want you to come back

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pol-ar-ity · 4 years

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Like. Like. Like.

Social media has eaten me alive and spit me back out. And I still crave that validation more than anything. I care about being liked too much. I obsessively refresh apps - Spotify, Instagram, Tumblr - and watch the numbers. I measure my self-worth in follows. No one followed me today. Am I less likable?

Did someone reblog my poetry? No? I’ll write a better poem. I won’t erase the old one to make a point. Make it seem like I don’t care about notes when those notes matter more to me than what I’ve written. Make it relatable. Try to be likable.

I deleted friends off of my personal Facebook without thinking twice. I stared at my professional Facebook, overflowing with strangers, and didn’t delete a single one. I stared at my page and looked at the analytics. Engagement down 8%. Why? What did I post that people didn’t care about? Am I likable still?

I don’t want to care about being likable. I don’t want to care about others’ opinions of me. I don’t want to care about if someone unliked my Facebook page or unsubscribed from my mailing list.

But I obsess. Don’t we all? What’s the first thing you do when you open your phone: texts or social media? I wake up and immediately base my perception of myself for the day based on how many notifications I have. If I’ll be likable that day.

We are so self-absorbed in trying not to be self-absorbed. But it’s not something to be personally ashamed of - society has pushed us to post everything everywhere and only backtrack when you’re close to being canceled. Rate your body on a scale from 1 to 10 and compare it to the Kardashian you just saw. Count your calories today - resist eating above 800. Wear sunglasses because you don’t feel like putting lashes on. Hide in your house because your roots are showing. Look likable.

We talk about the younger generations being shallow because they care about their looks. But they’re not shallow - they’re trying to fit in. Be included in a group at lunch. Have a good relationship with your coworker. Go through friends like a Rolodex and have your heart ripped out each time you wonder if you’re acting likable enough to deserve finding new ones.

Being likable is desired. Revered. Dreamt about. But we are multi-faceted. We are not made to be likable. We are made to be strong. Courageous. Brave. Happy. Smart. Creative. Kind. We are made to be more than a like. We are made to change the world and make connections with other humans.

We are more than comments and follows. We are inherently likable. No subscription needed.

“you’re more than your profile pic”

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pol-ar-ity · 4 years

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People will tell you that you dream too big. That you won’t reach the stars. To settle for less, to settle for “steady” and “good enough.” They’ll tell you to view the glass as half full and half empty, right in the middle. Color in the lines. Think inside the box. Never speak your mind and never follow your heart and work until your fingers are numb.

But I’m telling you now: defy them. Deny it. Fight back.

Your dream is not too big. Your eyes should remain on the prize. Drown out the voices that say you’re not enough and way too much at the same time. Laugh as loudly as you can. Reach for the moon and don’t lose sight of your hope. Because you can do it. You can win. You are a fighter.

Keep your head in the clouds and your heart on your sleeve. You are enough. You are perfectly enough.

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