If home is where the heart is then we're fucked.

Being dysfunctional is attractive.
Because – lets be honest – who actually wants to be perfect?

You have my permission not to love me;
I am a cathedral of deadbolts
and I’d rather burn myself down
than change the locks.

—Rachel McKibbens, “Letter From My Brain To My Heart” (via larmoyante)

(via backshelfpoet)

I don’t care that you got into drugs for three months straight, or how much sleep you lost in that period. I don’t care that you went home and fucked that person and woke up at 6am hating everything about yourself, or that you smoked so much you sounded as though your lungs were giving out.

You’re not a bad person for the ways you tried to kill your sadness.

You’re just human, and being human means you need to survive and you do so whichever way you deem fit, fuck everyone else.

Before you know it it’s 3 am and you’re 80 years old and you can’t remember what it was like to have 20 year old thoughts or a 10 year old heart.

—This is the scariest fucking text post I’ve ever read (via fuckinq)

(Source: anitaspallenberg, via yourethereasonthingshavetochange)