Barbara. Canadian. Writer. Taken.

I’m crying all the time now.

I cried all over the street when I left the Seattle Wobbly Hall.
I cried listening to Bach.
I cried looking at the happy flowers in my backyard, I cried at the sadness of the middle-aged trees.

Happiness exists I feel it.
I cried for my soul, I cried for the world’s soul.
The world has a beautiful soul.
God appearing to be seen and cried over. Overflowing heart of Paterson.

"Tears" by Allen Ginsberg, Artic, 1956 [courtesy of Haley Always (shefrolics)] (via the-art-of-misdirection)

Mental illness is like fighting a war where the enemy’s strategy is to convince you that the war isn’t actually happening.

Kat (via avvfvl)

(Source: scootaloo-pootaloo)

nightmares-for-dreams:

may || the story so far

Further in Summer than the Birds, Emily Dickinson

hauntedfruit:

Further in Summer than the Birds
Pathetic from the Grass
A minor Nation celebrates
It’s unobtrusive Mass

No Ordinance be seen
So gradual the Grace
A pensive Custom it becomes
Enlarging Loneliness.

Antiquer felt at Noon
When August is burning low
Arise this spectral Canticle
Repose to typify

Remit as yet no Grace
No Furrow on the Glow
Yet a Druidic - Difference
Enhances Nature now

I don’t owe people anything, and I don’t have to talk to them any more than I feel I need to.

Ned Vizzini, It’s Kind of a Funny Story (via avvfvl)

(Source: wordsnquotes)

If you think that it wouldn’t make a difference
if you killed yourself,
I’m telling you that you’re wrong.
Because you’ve impacted so many people already,
and the fingerprints you’ve left
on people’s lives
will be the everlasting difference
that you’ve made.

N.E.W.,  Please Stay, You Matter. (via lookingforsomeonewhocares)

To Endure

themusingstranger:

Celine was a star,
Dead to the rhythms
of the actual
Though persisting in the
waves of perception,
She proved to be light,
traveling in space and
surviving time,
She was gone, but this
I knew not,
For she continued to
burn, and she glowed
in the fury of particles
and exploding energy,
I spoke to her ghost
believing she was real.

shades of indigo

27zen:

      shades of indigo

at first i think
it is prosperous fish
or out of season lightning bugs
skimming lower Saranac Lake

but it is stars reflecting
off the peaceful lake

the wide sky is filled with
all levels of suns shining to me

my head resting on my tonic bottle
watching for the dart of stars and
thinking about when your head
rested on my chest

and hoping
for good weather this weekend
with another moment under indigo

Some things
hurt too much
and take a long time.

Some things
sneak up on you
and take a part
of your soul.

Some things
have a strange way
of never changing—
and there’s nothing
more painful than that.

Holden Caulfield, I wrote you a song - j.b. (via youshouldacceptchaos)