"15 years old, no blood in your hands.You still believe that love has no casualties, that daisy petals can provide answers about a heart's intention.

3 years later you can't clean the blood out from your fingernails,You've stopped asking the flowers if he loves you. You know he doesn't

19 years old, no blood on your hands just burns, from trying to love the sun but no longer need the warmth, you love yourself and its finally enough"

I am writing because my regret is not so great, because I leave the door ajar, because I fold the pages and not tear them, because I ignore the matters that - for sure - I am not ignorant, because my sorrow is not severe. I never crossed the road and finished my story. My indignation needs a letter to tame him, to appease him, to pat him on the head and to speak on his behalf. I write because writing is a process of dating, I write so that I can date myself. Because today I differ from me yesterday and because tomorrow I will differ from me today. I write because I am afraid to start talking about me one day and still don't know the one I talk about.

Have you ever been in love with a writing?
I just did.

I like messy people who don't fit in a box or stay between the lines, but whose integrity is greater than any rule book and whose loyalty is stronger than blood.

"Everybody has a home team: It's the people you call when you get a flat tire or when something terrible happens. It's the people who, near or far, know everything that's wrong with you and love you anyways. These are the ones who tell you their secrets, who get themselves a glass of water without asking when they're at your house. These are the people who cry when you cry, these are your people

You know, ever since we were little, I would get this feeling like... Like I'm floating outside of my body, looking down at myself... And I hate what I see... How I'm acting, the way I sound. And I don't know how to change it. And I'm so scared... That the feeling is never gonna go away.
The Edge Of Seventeen.

Where have I been?
Where have I been that my body so smells of the night?

In loveeeee🖤🖤🖤

"just what you want to be, you will be in the end"

Imagine a room, a sudden glow. Here is my hand, my heart, my throat, my wrist. Here are the illuminated cities at the center of me, and here is the center of me, which is a lake, which is a well that we can drink from, but I can't go through with it, I just don't want to die anymore.

She was the beautiful dream I have been searching for.
Th one to wake me.
-A

I found something I think it's the first thing i ever wrote👇

What do they call it...Yup a silence sp loud that it deafened a deaf man. That silence. It was all about the thoughts and nothing else. It was like we shouted for too long. Its like we loved our demons more than each other. It's like the drops of salty tears felt our caress than eachother. This story is about us. The wanderers. The quiet ones. The dropouts. The haunted ones. The addicts. The trouble makers. The thantophobic. The atelophobics. The messed up ones. The silence rockstars.
-Yeab T🤍-

Let me bless y'all ears🖤🖤🖤