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everyone makes love sound like
rocks against the window at two in
the morning, like grand gestures in
front of the classroom, like public displays
of affection and eighty-two rose bouquets
and maybe that is a part of it but

when real love hits you, he will be
spreading hummus across flatbread, sleep
tangling her fingers in his hair, a slight
whispy smile on his lips like he knows
the world’s greatest secret and even though
you’re both standing in the kitchen’s
bad lighting and you’re both still
recovering from napping and you’re
only in your socks and undies,
it will feel like you’re standing next to a jet plane
during take off, it will just knock you right over

when real love hits you, she will be sitting
in front of a bad action movie, eyes on
the screen and legs tangled between yours,
her body fitting so perfectly against you that you
feel like the two of you are puzzle pieces made for
each other, the warmth of her laughter
like whiskey through your veins
and you will realize you have spent the
last five minutes just looking
at her face and maybe the two of you
illegally downloaded this film and maybe her
fingertips are covered with popcorn butter and
maybe you’ll never be able to form a good enough
way to tell her, but just even seeing her happy makes
your heart explode like a snowball against
a windowpane, you’re just completely wrecked by it

when love hits you, they will be absently licking icing
off the back of their knuckle while they make cupcakes
for their whole class and their nose will wrinkle
and you will find an inexplicable humor in how
they literally sprint from the room in order to sneeze
without breathing on the food, you will watch the way
they sneak some batter from the bowl with a hooked
finger, how their left cheek has a little smear
of flour right across where their freckles
rest like clovers and maybe they are
not the best baker in the world but
even if they burn everything they make you,
you realize you wouldn’t care, you would
honestly eat whatever it was for
rest of your life because it means being
close to them and that idea just cracks
against your ribs like how rain always sings as
it falls, so in love with the ground that it
praises the earth as it hits

and this is what love is:
the moments of looking up and finding
you’re with the world’s most perfect person,
so full of flaws and such a terrible, terrific

This is silly but he’s home to me.” /// r.i.d
(via inkskinned) Beautiful

" - I don’t know a thing about the first girl you loved, why you stopped loving her or why you still do. I don’t know how many millions of cells you are made of and if they have any idea they are part of something so beautiful and unimaginably perfect - "

-Lang Leav, Lullabies


Happy February! 


something very pleasing to taste or smell.


a vivid crimson color.


a bright or deep red color.


having the childlike innocence or plump prettiness of a cherub.


be extremely and uncritically fond of.


(esp. of sound) sweet and soothing (often used ironically).


flower: the period of greatest prosperity or productivity.


sexual yearning, love, or desire.


causing cold; cooling or chilling.


a heavily built, gregarious, burrowing rodent.


sentimental in a feeble or sickly way.


sweet or musical; pleasant to hear.


rather cold; chilly.


tinged with red or rufous.


excessively sweet or sentimental.


a pink dye that was discovered in 1859, the year a battle was fought at Solferino.


lukewarmness: a warmness resembling the temperature of the skin.


having or showing an excessive or submissive fondness for one’s wife.

[It’s true that we’re all hurting
and I know we need to cry
but don’t let your tears extinguish the flames
that faintly still illuminate your eyes]

while we mourn our fallen soldier
as he’s carried towards the skies
where he’s sure to be made a guardian angel
to watch us and to guide

us through the rough patches up ahead through sleepless nights and anxious days the present moments seem so dim but with the help of God, he’ll light our way

as we’re introduced to this new beginning
and forced to write this chapter
I’d like to think that the sunshine is his great big smile
and all the birdsong is his laughter

soon the clouds are bound to brighten and the fog will surely lift
and we’ll celebrate his life
He truly was a precious gift

to all of those fortunate enough to know him
and his twisted, charming wit
there never was a dull moment
he always made sure of it

Gone too young, before his time
a gentle giant with a heart of gold
he possessed a kindness so apparent
and a humor sometimes bold

but for now is not forever
Although it surely feels that way
And though our heartstrings may feel severed
I think it’s safe to say

when God called home another angel we lost a brother, friend and son
but in our hearts and minds we promise  his memory shall always live on.

Rest In Peace, Hussein Abou-Abbas
May 28, 1996 – January 23, 2014

Girls that smoke


Girls that smoke are sexier than most
The ones who aren’t afraid of a midnight toke
The ones who will hit the bong
And rap with you to your favorite song
The chick you hang with on a sunny day
And just share that dank ass j
Not the stuck up cunt
Who talks shit in class
The one that rolls blunts
And knows how to puff and pass so this poems to the girls that like that sticky weed
Because they are the best women indeed.

(Source: rushstreetmemory)

And kid, you’ve got to love yourself. You’ve got wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee, and stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn. You’ve got to sit next to the man at the train station who’s reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You’ve got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you’ve got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You’ve got to stop taking everything so goddam personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You’ve got to compliment someones crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You’ve got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that won’t matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You’ve got to stop worrying about what you’re going to tell her when she finds out. You’ve got to stop over thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You’ve got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You’ve got to love yourself.
(via girl-violence)

Love this!

(Source: irynka)

Written February 14, 2010, in honour of the 100th Canadian Soldier to die overseas

Coming Home In The Flag:

He holds her tight
He kisses her cheek
They both pull away as he’s called to leave

As the plane takes of
He waves farewell
She wishes him luck, she wishes him well

He’s overseas
She’s at home
She cries when the kids are at school and she’s sure she’s alone

Constantly hoping
And praying each day
Asking God to watch over him and keep him safe

Frequent letters exchanged
About the week’s events
Until one arrives that’s not like the rest

The letter’s in her hands
But she’s too afraid to read
Terrified of the news it might bring

She reads, “…another one dead…”
There was no time for goodbye
She falls to her knees, and asks aloud, “Why?”

The kids know something’s wrong
And run to comfort their mom
She’s not sure how to tell them that their dad’s not coming home

Another one down
Why did he have to go?
Add one to the tally of brave lost souls

The coffin comes home
Wrapped proud in the flag
She receives his possessions in a camouflage bag

The funeral’s held
The eulogy read
Songs are sung, prayers silently said

She closes her eyes
As the bagpiper plays
Tries to call to mind memories of happier days

The coffin’s lowered six feet
Then it’s covered with dirt
But nothing could ever conceal her hurt

Bitter tears
A broken heart
She wishes to go back to the start

When he’d kiss her cheek
When he’d hold her tight
When she knew he’d be coming home safe at night

Now darkness comes, but he doesn’t
And she cannot lull sleep
She turns her head, begins to weep

Hello to nightmares,
Goodbye sweet dreams
Nothing is ever quite as it seems

(Though there is an exception,
Forever this fact shall remain:
War served little purpose, and causes great pain.)

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