What I hate most about myself is how I need constant validation from people. No matter how hard I pretend otherwise, the truth is this: I care. I want to be appreciated, I want to feel loved, I want to feel enough. I have been writing off my insecurities away, hoping that doing so would wipe these thoughts that keep on wiggling their way in my head. But I have been writing so hard that I did not notice that the paper was inked with blood; there was no comfort in my words, just escape. M.P., Blood and Ink
(via ofalmosts)

You are my Sunday morning -
that feeling of calm as I watch
the sun ascend the sky, the
city bathing in its light.
You are the delicious
aroma of coffee diffusing
through the room,
the first scent to welcome
me when I open my eyes
to a beautiful new day.
You are that ‘hey I don’t
have anything to do today’
feeling, that sense of relief
that I love because you
are my breather,
the one I would always
run to after a tiring week.
You are my endless possibilities.
You are my now, and with you
Mondays don’t matter.
Just the beautiful day I have ahead of me. M.P., Sunday Morning (via ofalmosts)

I feel like my chest
is about to explode
because of a million
reasons even I
could not comprehend.
I just feel the need
to hug and be hugged
and release all
these emotions
because I’m sad
just terribly sad
and I feel lost
and I am missing out
on a lot of things
and God,
I just want
to find my way home. M.P., Nothing’s fine and everything just hurts (via ofalmosts)

You don’t know where you’re headed. You feel like you’ve been walking this world blindly, letting people take charge of what’s supposed to be your life. You’re too afraid to make a stand and just go out there and walk on your own because you might stumble over a rock or lead yourself to a trap. You feel too ill-equipped to handle this predator of a world on your own — like you’re too clumsy and awkward and weak and one cannot afford to not be strong in this life, else they’d see themselves too bruised and too broken to even move. This world would not go gentle on anybody, so you might as well brave the waters and walk even if you can’t see the road and just go on. Make your own mistakes. Stumble. Fall. Then stand up again. You’ll find your way eventually. One day. But for now, walk. Don’t stop and stay in one place because you’re too afraid of the uncertain. M.P., Note to self (#3): You’ll find your way eventually
(via ofalmosts)

Do not bother
fighting your tears
for fear of people
seeing you at
your most vulnerable.
You have been
afraid of what other
people might say
for far too long
you have learned
how to hold back
and pretend.
If you do not
want people to think
that you are
capable of
being crippled by
your emotions,
you might as well
turn yourself
into a rock.
Everybody feels.
It is okay to feel.
So go.
Cry.
Let it go.
People’s perception
be damned.
Your tears are proof
that you are human
and dear,
it takes so much
courage to still be
human in a world
that turns everyone
to monsters. M.P., You’re only human (via ofalmosts)

How dare you
walk in my life
like a breeze
on an autumn morning
and make me
fall in love with you
the way the sun shone
on the beach
on a summer day
when you’re going to
leave me hanging
and shivering alone
in the middle of a storm
in winter,
thinking of myself
as a wilted flower
with a broken stem
that won’t bloom again
in spring. M.P., How Dare You (via ofalmosts)

I am not a six o’clock damsel;
I am not as beautiful
as when the sun slowly
ascends the sky,
the horizon turning
into that calming
shade of light blue.
I am not a drizzle
on a Sunday afternoon;
I am not graceful
the way the trees sway
with the breeze
as the rain quietly
pitter-patters
on the windowpane.

I am a three o’clock girl,
awkward and broody
and both scared
and in awe of
the limitless
possibilities
tomorrow could bring.
I am a signal number three storm,
unruly and causing havoc
in every life I touch.
I wreck everything in my path.

I am not a girl.
I am chaos with a body.

M.P., Chaotic  (via ofalmosts)

Never attempt to mold yourself
to be somebody else’s beautiful.
Do not change who you are
to fill in people’s expectations
of what you should be.
We live in a world
of do’s and don’ts
and of rights and wrongs,
and you’d go crazy if you try to be
everything at once.
You are not in liquid form;
you don’t have to change your shape
just to make yourself fit.
If you constantly change
who you are, soon you
would not be able to
recognize your true self. M.P., You are not in liquid form (via ofalmosts)

She was not the kind of woman who wanted her future told. She dreaded it too much. So if she were granted one small wish, it would only have been Not To Know. Not to know what each day held in store for her. Not to know where she might be, next month, next year. Ten years on. Not to know which way her road might turn and what lay beyond the bend. Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things (via ofalmosts)

Take a writer away from his typewriter and all you have left is the sickness which started him typing in the beginning. Charles Bukowski, About The Pen Conference (via ofalmosts)

How dare you
walk in my life
like a breeze
on an autumn morning
and make me
fall in love with you
the way the sun shone
on the beach
on a summer day
when you’re going to
leave me hanging
and shivering alone
in the middle of a storm
in winter,
thinking of myself
as a wilted flower
with a broken stem
that won’t bloom again
in spring. M.P., How Dare You
(via ofalmosts)