Despite what you’ve read, your sadness is not beautiful. No one will see you in the bookstore, curled up with your Bukowski, and want to save you.
for a salvation that will not come from the grey-eyed boy looking for an annotated copy of Shakespeare,
for an end to your sadness in Keats.
He coughed up his lungs at 25, and flowery words cannot conceal a life barely lived.
Your life is fragile, just beginning, teetering on the violent edge of the world.
Your sadness will bury you alive, and you are the only one who can shovel your way out with hardened hands and ragged fingernails, bleeding your despair into the unforgiving earth.
Darling, you see, no heroes are coming for you. Grab your sword, and don your own armor.
I learned that people can easily forget that others are human.
not wanting to date someone because you aren’t physically attracted to them doesn’t make you an asshole
wanting to sit at home watching TV instead of hanging out with people doesn’t make you an asshole
cutting off a friendship that was not satisfying to you doesn’t make you an asshole