Majestic Unicorns

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I'm Nadine (:
I like zombies, poetry, and art.
(and lots of other shit too)
Seasonal Affective Disorder

When the leaves start to fall my body slowly starts to recognize the change in temperature and my blood runs cold onto the bathroom tiles.
Winter is Sobriety’s vacation and I am just another tally mark on Mother Nature’s wrist.

— 1 hour ago with 2 notes
#poems  #mine  #spilled ink  #not sure where this came from 

He was like that hot stove your parents told you not to touch as a child. Every part of you screamed that you shouldn’t, but the curiosity still ate away at you didn’t it? It didn’t matter if people told you it would burn. You had to find out for yourself.

So you touched. And it was scalding.

Except, unlike with the stove, you didn’t jerk away. You only fell further into him. You let his flames consume you, wisping up your neck, singeing your hair, scorching your skin.

For awhile it felt like he had set you both alight. You were both fire. A ravenous, beautiful, tumbling blaze. So in sync, yet so out of control. You craved him, didn’t you?

So how did it feel when you realized that you both weren’t made of flames? That maybe one of you was just kindling?

Honey, fires were meant to die out. That is their nature.

Fire is weak.

Fire disappears at the slightest sight of water.
Fire is greedy. Fire just consumes and consumes until there’s nothing left.
Fire destroys.

And I know it hurts to breathe, but you’ve got to remember that Fire can’t even hold its breath, because it dies within seconds.

You are so much stronger than that which burned you.

It doesn’t matter if you’ve been reduced to embers or ashes.
While the fire has ceased to exist, you are still here.


Maybe When the Smoke Clears, You’ll Understand.


(via sidewayserenade)
— 1 day ago with 499 notes


sorry is not enough

Canada remains apologetic and flawless as ever



sorry is not enough

Canada remains apologetic and flawless as ever

(via worldwide-dreamer)

— 4 days ago with 185769 notes




My therapist asked me to create something “motivating” so I made these.


I really love these, and I reblog them every single time. Some of you don’t realize how easy it’s to forget to do some of those stuff or how hard they can be some days.

now i feel like ive actually accomplished something today thank u ily

(via worldwide-dreamer)

— 4 days ago with 785079 notes
Potstickers. I’m high.

Potstickers. I’m high.

— 4 days ago with 1 note

So today was tiring. But not as tiring as the past few days and I think it’s because I apologized to Philip. Even though I apologized over a text message in the end, I think it was still okay. We had a whole conversation about it and he said he understood that people have bad days. I slept much better too, but I also went to bed before 3 o’ clock so that probably has a lot to do with it too. I didn’t have an anxiety attack today. I thought I was going to but I didn’t so that’s great. Always.
This morning at the bistro, Kiesha (my boss) was a real bitch. I recently got another job and I told her that the first two weeks I’m gonna have to work around a schedule. She said that that was fine. Well, it turns out that he absolutely wants everyone there on Saturday so I can’t work at the bistro on Saturday at all when I usually work there both shifts. So it’s understandable that she’s a little upset, but I gave her a two weeks notice. She should have had someone available to cover my shifts when I had to be at my other job, there’s no way around that. She’s trying to blame it all on me and that’s not gonna work out. Now she’s got someone in there trying to take my fucking shifts! Trying to learn her way to the kitchen and Kiesha is playing her white ass. Kiesha doesn’t want her working there. She wants a relatively young girl with tits and a nice ass because she knows what she’s playing at. She called me immature and disrespectful today and that really took me by suprise. I understand why people think that I can be disrespectful. I always need to know why something needs to be done. I’m never just “okay” or “in a minute” it’s always “why?” Now it’s a “why” that I say in passing on my way to do whatever I was just told to do, but a “why” nonetheless, and people don’t like being questioned. Kiesha, especially, doesn’t like being questioned. It’s not going to last very long here and they’re not making it very easy for me to go the responsible way. I would like to be able to work two day shifts and three night shifts at the bistro. She’s not seeing it my way.
Then I went to work at the grill and that’s when I thought I was gonna have the attack but I didn’t but it was kind of boring I spent half the shift painting and talking with courtney and i spent the other half painting (still) and listening to two people my age talk about high school drama. That is one of the most annoying things I’ve had to sit through and I hope that the rest of my stay isn’t like that.
Then it was Connor’s birthday party! He’s so olddddd well he’s only seven but he’s so oldddddd. It kills me. He’ll always be my three year old little brother fuck the police. The cupcakes were really loud if that makes sense. The flavor was very rich and the colors were psychadelic. The cake was orange, the icing was purple, with an orange swirl around the top of the icing, and then blue diamond sprinkles on top. If i had been high i would have stared at them all fucking night. But he got a few books and some more in the mail, $20 from Pop, a couple really cool Transformers and a marble thing from my mom. But mom’s stomach started hurting because apparently she ate gluten and trying to steal the spotlight like she so often does, she started moaning in pain and crying out. And god dammit now I’m fucking crying. I paid her no attention. I even defied her. She decided to say that she had celiac disease and I wanted to punch her. She doesn’t have celiac disease, she’s a fucking lunatic. Youre taking too many fucking energy pills. You’re fucking yourself up. It’s been three months and you still say that you have three pounds until you hit your goal. I’m worried about you, but I can’t say anything. I know you’ll turn it back on me and try to tear me down again and I can’t risk that so I’m sorry.

Wow so I zoned out and started talking to my mom in my head and then I came back down but I’m not gonna change it because it’s cool.

I missed Baby Mike and Aunt Jenn so much and I didn’t realize how much. I hope they can come over and see my apartment this week sometime and just chill or whatever. Obviously no smoking thats a duh. But just watching a movie or something.

Aw fuck I’m gonna stop writing this because it’s 11:46 and I want to wake up early tomorrow to do some yoga before I clean the apartment. Goodbye Tumblr and Hello Netflix In Bed.

— 6 days ago
#so idk  #i got high and wanted to post about my life idk  #fuck it 
Accidental Bleedings

My eyes work all on their own. They take hiking trips to follow the shine
of the blade.
They work hard to find the flaws that are only skin deep and they dwell in
the hollows of my empty veins.
They have a ritual that my mind can’t break.

Accidental Bleedings

My eyes work all on their own. They take hiking trips to follow the shine
of the blade.
They work hard to find the flaws that are only skin deep and they dwell in
the hollows of my empty veins.
They have a ritual that my mind can’t break.

— 1 week ago
#poems  #picture was taken with a shitty camera phone  #in dim lighting after a shower  #you can't see my scars the way i wanted  #but when i get a new camera  #i will definitely try and redo it  #mine  #spilled ink 

This week has been so hectic and I’ve had a terrible time trying to keep track of everything that I need to. It hasn’t been the greatest for my mental health. Three times this week, I’ve had an anxiety attack. The first one was Sunday when I got home from work, because I had been a bitch to Philip on Saturday night and I really shouldn’t have and I need to apologize to him, but I don’t want to do it over a text message, and everytime I see him, he’s high. Which isn’t neccesarily unusual, but he’s higher than usual. Pumped up. He’s not himself and I hate it. It’s such a fake happiness that it sickens me. Monday nights attack was much of the same, but even more because it was the first time I saw Philip that high since January. Which happened to be my nineteenth birthday. Thanks. Today though was very different. It still had to do with him, but mostly the thought of being alone. I felt like I had no one. There was absolutely no one to call to come pick me up off the side of the road because I couldn’t breathe. And that thought scared me. That thought still scares me and I’m afraid that it always will.
It’s only Tuesday and I’m already exhausted. Monday I had orientation at my second job and it looks pretty promising. I might actually be able to leave the bistro in a month or two (hopefully just the one). Today I got up early. I only got maybe four hours of sleep total. I can’t sleep because my conscience won’t let me. I had a hair appointment and got three inches cut off (all dead) but it makes me sad. I’ve never been sad after a hair cut, i just feel less pretty without that extra length. I know it’s stupid, my hair is still long. And it will grow. I know these things. But he likes my hair. And now there’s less of it. Which means there’s less of me that he likes. That’s disgusting. The rest of my week is just as busy. Tomorrow I work at the bistro from 9:30am-3pm and then at the grill from 4:30-whenever. Same Thursday except that it’s flip-flopped then Friday i’m at the grill in the morning, the bistro at night, and then Saturday is the grill all day and then Sunday is the bistro all day and then I’m going to spend the night with an old friend.
But god, I don’t know who told me that it was a good idea to get a second job because I’m gonna end up going to the wrong place at the wrong time and then i’ll be fucked somewhere.

— 1 week ago
"     I wanted her to love me. To kiss my lips and touch my fingers and hide me from myself. I wanted to be seen as something more then just a figment of the imagination and it’s cold outside. Spring has just begun but there is still rain on my windowsill, why is there so much room to expand. I am eating all the letters but keep vomiting up nonsense and there is gasoline tripping over its shoelaces as it runs through my veins. Pass me some matches, and I’ll set myself ablaze just to keep you in the light. I am dust and lint and broken promises and sore feet and I see green eyes in my rear view mirror every time I drive.
     I want to hold her hand. I want to expand myself to another level, to make myself big enough that people can’t ignore the hammering in my chest when I pass them in the street. I am dancing on ice with my shoes kicked to the side but the bottoms of my feet are still hot. I want to run. I want to kiss strangers because I don’t think he loves me anymore. I am bouncing between the sanded fingers that never seem to leave any splinters; I just want a little scar to remind myself you were real.
     It is dark outside and I’m alone again. Left to beat my heart with all the strength I can muster but something is different in the way my lungs scream. I can hear my body as it fixes and loves me but I don’t think it loves me in the ways I want. I am breathing like surgery, under the anaesthetic, tilting back my head as I scream violence at the sky.
     Can you hear me? I see her in my dreams and she’s dancing once again in the kitchen to the radio and I wish I had danced with her there is a fire and its so warm I can smell the gravy and the TV is talking loudly and now the ground is warmer then the flesh upon her face.
     It is so quiet here in this house, with its cold feet and sleeping patrons. Comings and goings occur, and time elapses as I wait for nothing and everything all at the same time. I am a dartboard in the summertime, Christmas hats and tear drops and I know he never loved me but I pretend all the same. I lied to him and I lied to them and I will lie and lie again and I rip my veins out every night and watch them bleed into the sky.
     I don’t make any sense anymore, there’s something in my brain that pendulums back and forth in a ricochet of nonsense and I need to know that I am still real. I pinch myself when no ones looking and bite the sides of my arms because the hands tacked to the end of them no longer feel a thing. I should’ve kissed him longer. I should’ve let myself get so wrapped up in the night sky that I could become a constellation too, I don’t want to talk about the sunshine.
     I wish I had listened when they said time takes time but all I think about now is the sand as it runs through the glass. I wanted her to love me like I did but I lied to myself and I lied to him and I see the blood behind my eyes. I write word after word after word and none of it says what I’m trying to say but all of its important and my chest is so heavy I can feel my soul pressing at the edges I want to scream all the time but there’s something civil that pauses my breath before I can even take it in.
     Something is wrong again and there’s no one to blame but myself this time I see the night sky and I want it to hold me in its arms and kiss my forehead-
     I am very small. I expand and contract. I wish I could fill my words with meaning and metaphor but nothing spills out but nonsense I am nonsense and grit, spiders and record players that don’t know how to make a sound. Kiss me and you will see how important I am.
     I have curled into a ball in the middle of the night, drunk, sitting on the road. I kissed my knees and held my hands but all my love is in the ground, sitting and sobbing
     And warming the flesh of her face."
— 1 week ago with 1520 notes
"She always loved the sea, but that never explained
why I saw shipwrecks in her smile. She was the type
of girl that slipped out of your fingers like sand,
especially when you tried to hold on too tight, she
didn’t like being too close. She’d crash into men like
the waves crashed into rocks, she thought she would
find herself in them but she never did. I told her she
already had something. I told her that the emotions
she held inside her were gifts to be written and given,
but instead she swallowed pills that took them away.
She asked me if I believed in heaven and I said yes,
and followed it with a don’t go without me. She shook
away the smile on her face and said one day she’d meet
me between the sea and the sun, I didn’t understand
what the hell she meant so I just said okay. It wasn’t
until the next day I called her in the morning and got no
answer, no answer, no answer.
The last time I caught a glimpse of her was when I set
her ashes free, between the sun and the sea. Where
she wanted to be."
i.c. // to the ones who lost
their best friend  (via delicatepoetry)
— 1 week ago with 2719 notes

and you said “are you okay” because i was shaking and the insides of my mouth tasted like metal but the truth was i had never been more okay in my whole life because kissing you felt like you’d spooned the stars past my lips but i’m playing it cool so all i say is


when you leave you ask “are you okay” while i still pretend i can feel your body heat as a blanket beside me, an echo warmth from something so strong at the time i remember complaining, i pretend i can still hear your even breath as you sleep soundly against my neck, i pretend it is your arms that are weighing me down and not a crushing sense that i have let something precious just barely slip through my fingers but i’m not a clingy ex so i just say


you kiss her while the moon is kissing my upturned face and making my tears into silver ribbons and you call me out of breath and excited and when you hear how my voice hitches you pause to ask “are you okay” in the same concerned way as if for a moment everything depends on my response to that question and all i can wonder is if she tastes like me if her hair is longer and wavy and if she’s perfected the art of both puns and a perfect smoky eye and if she fits beside you with the same puzzle-piece comfort that i do but good lord the last thing you deserve is my burden so i just clear my throat and say

"i’m okay, yeah"

even though I don’t think i’m gonna be.

And you know, they always say that ‘if you truly love someone, you’ll let them go,’ but it still doesn’t feel right. It’s been a year, and I still keep his voicemails because when I hear him talking to me, I am home.” /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)
— 1 week ago with 2049 notes
"At thirteen I started crying as silently as my wrists
started bleeding. I never understood why I always
felt too heavy, like I was buried under bricks and no
matter how much weight I lost, I felt like I took up too
much space in this room, in this world. I never
understood why I pushed the word sadness out of my
mind and convinced myself that I was fine even when
I was sitting in a bathtub full of my own blood. I never
understood why I walked around with a mask that some
people called a smile, and why I always felt like a fraud
at the end of the day. I never understood the way happiness
was suppose to feel and how people could call it a choice
because fuck, if it is a choice I wouldn’t be staring at the
walls wondering why I’m even breathing. I never felt loved
and I thought it was something I’d feel after letting him into
my bed, but after kissing boys whose lips I knew better than
their own personality, I still felt nothing but numb. I never understood why I was afraid of the doctor and afraid of
being told I was clinically depressed. The day the news
broke I still didn’t comprehend it, was I going to be like
this forever?
Four years later, two medications, sessions of therapy,
my wrists no longer bleed but my soul does.
I’m seventeen now, and I still don’t understand."
i.c. // ”clinically depressed” (via delicatepoetry)
— 1 week ago with 2843 notes

I want to start a non-profit magazine called Rebel, where I feature articles, photos, poems, and in general, historically/statistically/(and all the other ‘allys’) factual information about certain problems that appear in the world: homophobia, racism, sexism, rape culture, transphobia, cisphobia, Green Earth, etc. I want to interview the people that these issues are directly effecting and I want to make their voices heard.

I want articles about what reader’s can do to help, informational articles about the topic, articles about historical reoccurence, etc. I want pictures that represent the problem ie. Picture of a young, underweight girl in America highlighting the issues of poverty or domestic violence that we have going on under our own roof. I want to have a section of young poet’s poems that are ‘anti’ bullying, rape culture, women’s health laws, etc. I want to make a difference in this world. I want people to listen to what I have to say, because I am very good with my words. I want the world to be a better place, and I want to be alive when that happens.

I guess what I’m asking is: would anyone actually read this?

— 1 week ago with 4 notes
#spilled ink  #photography  #anti-bullying  #feminism  #sexism  #rapism  #homophobia  #self harm awareness  #all of the isms that good people participate in  #transphobia  #cisphobia 

Oh look at me all cute listening to Ella Fitzgerald in my apartment. Alone. All by myself. Alone. Because I’m alone.

— 1 week ago