thatcrazybitchplease

Latest Posts by thatcrazybitchplease

what if you wore a shirt that featured a picture of you trying to claw your way out of the shirt with a horrid desperate expression and the text "THAT'S NOT ME THAT'S NOT ME I'M TRAPPED IN THE SHIRT"

I have been falling of the edges again. How many times do you hit the ground till you get used to hard ground hitting your body. How many times you get lost in dark just to know that it changes with time even if not to light, but it does change and you can breathe differently. I am waiting for moment that will set me free. I am wishing on stars once again. I hope their kindness find me so that i can move with ease. I no longer wish to drag myself in life. I want to run free.

leave me alone, i am self diagnosing my mental illnesses

and it pisses me off to not have more than 24 hours in my day. i want to watch every movie that made you feel something, every song that gave you a serotonin boost, every book that broke to make you, every poem that made you fall in love a little more, every fuckin thing you ever laid your eyes on- i want to be a part of that. it pisses me off to not have known you when we both were kids: untainted, innocent, fragile but now that we are older, do you believe me?

#let the man rest

who cares how you talk about love? be passionate about it if it lets you unleash the rotting fury on a world that isn't even alive enough to see the colour on your face when you are in love; be bitter if your broken heart pricks you from the inside; be warm about it if it kisses you goodnight; be cold if you are paralyzed by it. tell the world how you feel if that makes you feel lighter. pull a frank gallagher on your love life. be reckless.

last summer i was in love and this winter i miss the warmth of our time together, of songs sung to each other, of poems written to one another, of the hands held, lips kissed, reluctant goodbyes, eager hi-s, of belonging somewhere. this winter my heart is loose in my chest and it rattles every time i recognize the familiarity of a lost love. i don't miss you, i miss us.

Not everyone can afford this madness, i am not tethered to anything, loneliness is a side effect of self medicating,nothing good can come out of infinite apologies;

my tragedy is- my freedom is absolute; it's abandonment at its finest. I am everything my mother warned me not to be.

there are days when my name lingers on the inside of your mouth; too reluctant to be explicit, too obvious to be discreet.

and it makes both of us tiptoe around each other till you say, "one last time" and spend the night in my dad's t-shirt that i always forget to bring back home. we have a hard time returning things, you and i. we make a home out of borrowed items because the reality of owning something that's just ours is scary; we are not who we wanted to be and if any of us got any closer to what we prayed for, i am not sure we'll recognize what we see. right now, i see you with my blurry vision because i can't find my glasses again and you have no idea how to look for things. you once told me you only started missing your grandma after she was buried. you do that; confess bizarre things just after coming. i don't mind it but i think i love you only when you are falling asleep beside me. the rest of the time we spend together, i nurture a mild hatred towards you so that we don't promise each other a forever we will grow to resist. well, even our hypotheticals are a calculated risk. there are days when your name lingers on the roof of my mouth so i just shove my tongue down yours so that we can never talk about anything real; reality bites, i'm sure you've noticed.

there are days when my name lingers on the inside of your mouth; too reluctant to be explicit, too obvious to be discreet.

and it makes both of us tiptoe around each other till you say, "one last time" and spend the night in my dad's t-shirt that i always forget to bring back home. we have a hard time returning things, you and i. we make a home out of borrowed items because the reality of owning something that's just ours is scary; we are not who we wanted to be and if any of us got any closer to what we prayed for, i am not sure we'll recognize what we see. right now, i see you with my blurry vision because i can't find my glasses again and you have no idea how to look for things. you once told me you only started missing your grandma after she was buried. you do that; confess bizarre things just after coming. i don't mind it but i think i love you only when you are falling asleep beside me. the rest of the time we spend together, i nurture a mild hatred towards you so that we don't promise each other a forever we will grow to resist. well, even our hypotheticals are a calculated risk. there are days when your name lingers on the roof of my mouth so i just shove my tongue down yours so that we can never talk about anything real; reality bites, i'm sure you've noticed.

Alias Grass ‘cause we go from grass to grace

"So if I asked you about art you’d probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo? You know a lot about him. Life’s work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientation, the whole works, right? But I bet you can’t tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You’ve never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling. Seen that. If I asked you about women you’d probably give me a syllabus of your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can’t tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You’re a tough kid. I ask you about war, and you’d probably, uh, throw Shakespeare at me, right? “Once more into the breach, dear friends.” But you’ve never been near one. You’ve never held your best friend’s head in your lap and watched him gasp his last breath, looking to you for help. And if I asked you about love you probably quote me a sonnet. But you’ve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone could level you with her eyes. Feeling like! God put an angel on earth just for you…who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be her angel and to have that love for her to be there forever. Through anything. Through cancer. You wouldn’t know about sleeping sitting’ up in a hospital room for two months holding her hand because the doctors could see in your eyes that the term visiting hours don’t apply to you. You don’t know about real loss, because that only occurs when you love something more than you love yourself. I doubt you’ve ever dared to love anybody that much. I look at you; I don’t see an intelligent, confident man; I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you’re a genius, Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine and you ripped my fuckin’ life apart. You’re an orphan right? Do you think I’d know the first thing about how hard ! your life has been, how you feel, who you are because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you? Personally, I don’t give a shit about all that, because you know what? I can’t learn anything from you I can’t read in some fuckin’ book. Unless you wanna talk about you, who you are. And I’m fascinated. I’m in. But you don’t wanna do that, do you, sport? You’re terrified of what you might say. Your move, chief."

-Sean Maguire, Good Will Hunting

when my lips touch yours, i rest on your wine breath and you kiss me like it'll be a little death if we stop now. i am a fool for your touch, your subtle laugh when you playfully punch me in the heart. i am a stupid girl in a city that you love and i love the word love because it reminds me of you everytime i say it. Love. Love. I Anna you. Anna. Love. See?

I think it's beautiful how cute we get when we are lonely. Calling up our bestfriend to talk about just anything before they ask if anything's wrong. Telling them it is, you are intimidated by the changing ways of life because you were finally getting used to the quiet life. Remembering school and your after school ice-cream dates, driving up to that quiet place behind school property where you can see the most beautiful sunset in the city. Writing I miss you and wish you were here to each other. Telling each other, you'll meet soon. Hugging your pillow and falling asleep to the playlist they made you on one of your birthdays. My heart is too fragile for reminiscence. I don't know how to contain all these so I sleep.

"and perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone."

-Madeline Miller

my cat can instinctively tell when I’m upset about something and she will come in and bite my toes to make me feel worse 🥺 what a little empath

entomologists are the most fucking wild people ive ever met

i pointed out a cool wasp to one and she just picked it up with her bare hands and started showing me different features she was using to identify the species

on a walk with another one he just paused, turned, violently shoved his hand into some rotting wood and offered me a tunnel web spider like oh okay i guess-

it's so important for your health and well-being to get overly attached to a fictional man who is both deeply amoral and unbelievably, pathetically sad

okay but what if i tell you i really like watching you read under the sun or in the rain or all curled up in warm duvet in dark winters by the fire or on a train ride back home? what if i tell you i enjoy watching your eyebrows do their little dance when the author throws another plot twist at your face or the way you bite your lips because you really can't wait to know everything about that one character who really is the hero but isn't given enough credit? what if i tell you i see you when you try to hide behind your smile? what if i tell you it's a privilege to love you?

Why is everyone asleep? Why must we be quiet and resting when we can be sleep deprived and be (.) this close to finding something truly breathtaking on some forgotten, neglected corner of the internet or finally have that one conversation with our estranged partners that we have dreaded for too long and be over with the anxiety? Why must we not stir the excitement within when we see someone talk about our favorite tv show which hasn't been watched by many yet? Why are we sleeping? Why are we not holding hands and kissing and confessing our love for one another? Why are we not telling the people we love how difficult isolation was and that every moment of it was lived with a flickering hope that after all of this is a little better we will get to touch, be touched again? Why are we pretending we weren't touch starved? Why are we sleeping when we should be making each other cute keychains that have a picture of our favorite place printed on them?

Remember when Fleabag said, ""I want someone to tell me what to wear in the morning. I want someone to tell me what to wear EVERY morning. I want someone to tell me what to eat. What to like, what to hate, what to rage about, what to listen to, what band to like, what to buy tickets for, what to joke about, what not to joke about. I want someone to tell me what to believe in, who to vote for, who to love and how to tell them."

The last line made me think about this a lot. It's okay to be dependent for a bit, rest ourselves on someone else's shoulder without feeling like we are living a cliché.

actually, growing up is feeling like i turned sixteen two days ago. i’ve been eighteen for years. fifteen year olds seem so young. wasn’t i fifteen just a few weeks ago? all my friends and i are still twelve. i’m closer to thirty then to being a baby. i never got to be a kid. i never grew past eight. i can’t talk to my mom. i want to sit in her lap forever. the week is going by so slow. an entire year has passed. i want to decide everything for myself. i need someone to tell me exactly what to do.

Solitude was my only consolation — deep, dark, deathlike solitude.

— Mary W. Shelley

Hit me like a truck bestie :")

if you were weirdly obsessed with going to boarding school as a kid then you’re queer and mentally ill now

"When I think of what life is, and how seldom love is answered by love; it is one of the moments for which the world was made."

-E.M.Forster, A Room With a View

You ever see a pretty dress, a well-organised notebook, a peculiar balcony or read one line of poetry and get the overwhelming urge to reinvent yourself

i can tell i'm sleep deprived bc i just made myself cry about tutankhamun and i have, like, negative interest in the kid

"And I could be a pretty girl, shut up when you want me to"

I am autumn in a tropical country.

I struggle with my identity when you paint me all orange and brown from memory. You make me miss a place I have never lived in, a place you had to leave to find me.

"I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself."

-Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis