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touch-starvation needs to be written with emphasis on the starving part. you are hungry to be touched. so hungry that even the very taste of it makes you nauseous. it has been long since anything has ever touched you, ever fed you - that your body has grown more used to that gnawing emptiness more than anything else. it's better for you to be held, to eat but it makes you sick to try. you know
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I don’t know how to do life and I am so severely depressed.
I feel absolutely dumb. I honestly have no idea how to progress or make a living. I feel as though I am doomed to work a job that pays $15/hr for the rest of my life. Like I truly feel I have a low IQ and I’ve been struggling with that realization for quite some time.
I really wish my life were different.
I wish I’d moved out of my small town when I had the chance.
I wish I’d had gone to college for a Bachelor of Arts like I had planned and been accepted for.
I wish my brain didn’t constantly remind me of how utterly stupid I am.
I wish I had cultivated friendships and connections instead of isolating.
I wish I had figured out how to profit off of the art I made for the past 6 years, instead of feeling as if I undersold and undervalued myself.
I wish I didn’t feel like I’ve nothing to give in this life, and in turn wonder if I deserve a life at all.
I don’t know how to fix anything when everything feels wrong and feels like I’m out of time.
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I’ve been writing a lot of poetry lately of things that are heavy on my heart and looking back at old poems I’ve written. And I am so, so sad for myself. For little me who thought the world was my oyster. For me now, who’s realizing I’m running out of time. And I’m trying to do everything I can to get out from under this grief.
And I think, if I could compile these feelings into a physical book maybe I would feel like I’ve done something right in my life. Something worthwhile.
Would love any guidance on how to make a poetry book? Where do I begin? How do I find a distributor?
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This might come as a shock but I’m Not Feelin too good my dudes
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“I WANT TO JUMP BACK INTO THE THROAT OF GOD, WHERE SKINNED KNEES AND BRUISED ANKLES DO NOT COUNT. THERE IS AN ANGER IN MY SOUL THAT WANTS OUT. WE’LL SEE THEN WHO IS HOLY.”
— THROAT OF GOD by Keren Chelsea (via selfapologies)
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I think I want my next piercing to be through my heart with a wooden stake
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“You can fool a lot of yourself but you can’t fool the soul.”
— Mary Oliver, from “Sister Turtle” in Winter Hours
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The last time I was on tumblr was probably 4 or 5 years ago. A lot has changed since then.
But what hasn’t changed is that feeling that I am not capable of having good things or a good life.
I wanted to be an artist. A real ~ has art shown in galleries ~ artist.
I wanted to learn how to tattoo.
I wanted to be married by the time I was 30.
I wanted to have a nice wedding with a beautiful dress while I was young.
I wanted to find closure in my relationships with my parents.
I wanted to feel like I was making a difference.
I wanted to be loved and supported by my family.
I wanted to prove to everyone that my childhood trauma and sexual abuse wasn’t going to stop me from living a happy and fulfilled life.
But it did. It did stop me from having a life. It stopped me from having dreams. It stopped me from taking opportunities. It consumed me until I did drugs every single day and wasted so many years.
Not one dream came true. And I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could pull little me out of that house of horrors. I wish I could have had a chance.
But I have nothing, and no one on my team.
No one is cheering me on.
No one cares if I live or die.
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