This Has 100% Been Talked About Before But Younger Members Of The Lgbt Community (especially On Tumblr)

Everyone loves a good tragedy.

The broken pieces scattered in an abyss

The quiet pleading in the rain

The silent aftermath when all is

said

gone

dead.

Everyone loves a good tragedy,

but I suppose the tragedy is us, isn’t it?

Too young to give up

Too old to make up dreams

that fly us from reality on golden wings

— until the tragedy is them (y.c.)

When did

h o p e

stop feeling like a dream

and start feeling like a joke?

I chase

l o v e

thinking that will lead to the

h o p e

they gets me out of bed everyday

but it keeps slipping through my fingers

like water

No,

like sand

gritty and rough

It’s worn me down

This running can’t help me find

this elusive

emotional

El Dorado

that we poets pretend to know anything about

— Yushan C.

WHAT TO DO WHEN THE DARK STARTS CALLING

Don’t say you’re fine. Every lie amplifies its siren’s call. 

Play music. The soft sort. The sort that sounds like lullabies and freedom, maybe a pinch of adrenaline. 

Work. Anything is enough to plug your ears, dull the dark’s edge. 

Lie. It’ll amplify it, but we’re all masochists here, aren’t we?

Punch something. A wall, maybe. The blood looks like eyes. The pain feels like teeth. 

Don’t say you’re fine. Fine doesn’t mean a damn anymore, anyways. It’s a cop out, a run out, a blindfold.

Close your eyes. 

Close your ears. 

It can’t get you here.

Who Decides?

Who decides what is right and what is wrong? Is it us— our hearts, our beliefs? Is it society— feeding us lies and truth in equal measure our whole lives? Or is it nature— the ever-present, slow-changing world we grow to love? Besides, who are we to choose? Right doesn’t come as pure white. Wrong doesn’t appear as stark black. Shades of grey dominate our world, and everyone is trying to decide which shades are worse than others. Our whole lives are founded on what we believe in our hearts. In that way, no one is a villain. Everyone is only trying to make their way in a world where good and evil are undefinable.

So don’t be so quick to judge. Battles are rarely fought in plain sight of others; rather, they occur in our hearts and souls and we wear our scars like trophies. Time and time again, we fight for the good in us. We fight to meet our own goals, to conquer our own worlds and fears and insecurities. Because demons will always lose to angels, if you put your mind to it. After all, without angels, demons would exist. And without demons, angels would have no meaning.

I found a drawer of letters the other day.

All of them addressed to me

All of them an

apology.

They went back

three months when

we only been together for

two

Did you know,

even then,

that you loved me?

And did you know,

even then,

that we wouldn’t make it?

The letters say y e s .

I wish they’d said n o

instead.

— Yushan C.

Sometimes I think that eternal love is the adult Santa Claus … we all know that it does not exist but nobody wants to hear it …

Alessandro Cattelan 

@thelovejournals

(via thelovejournals)

There is beauty 

in the silence, in the stillness, in the gone-ness.

In the dripping water casting ripples in puddle—

who is left to see it?

In the soundless streets—

who is left to hear it?

-

There is beauty

in the empty, in the quiet, in the ghosts.

In the burning lights, haloes silver and rose—

who is left to see?

In the winding roads, snow pristine and clear—

who is left?

-

There is beauty 

in the dark, in the soft, in the peace. 

Silence is a commodity rarely found and never sought, 

An extinct creature killed by advancing times. 

There is beauty in its return; 

There is beauty in its resurrection.

-

(who is left to hear?)

-

—beauty in a time of mourning (y.c.)

I am rediscovering how to love

The way I used to when I was five. Before Love

Was swept under the rug and 

Freedom became the only prize. 

Fear runs rampant, dominates—Panic is seeds sown by a 

         careless farmer—

But here, in this moment, without distraction, 

        without fear, 

I am rediscovering what it means to love despite 

       the flaws we hold. 

Here in this moment, 

I am redefining who I choose to be.

If one thing must come from this living, 

barring death, 

let it be the choice to love again, 

despite Love’s faults in the past. 

.

—in the space between here and then (y.c.)

You fall asleep to the sound of your heart

Trying to break free from your chest

And wake to your thoughts trying desperately

To escape your brain.

What does it say about you when your own

organs

Want to escape your body?

— y.c.