Describe me the way an author would in a book

behrsy:

send me more of these. be honest. I like them a lot.

beyonces-butt:

I hate it when you’ve been really on edge for a while and then you have a breakdown over a little thing and everyone thinks that you’re getting super upset about not washing your hair

I was broken the first day I fell in love

made up of spring blooms and teen heart songs

I gave the world such precious babes

still beating, still pulsing

through poisoned air by filthy words

and touches I was told to accept

Foul play was never pure intention

it never touches hearts

crumbling instead, dry ice in viens 

colder than the frosts on late crops

you left it through summers, autumns, winters, and springs, but never gave thought to years and five, and ten, and twenty

thousand of the nights spent wondering how the secrets came flooding through the cracks of well built homes without one mention of transgression

without one mention of “how could we let this happen in the first place”