Let Me Teach You to Love Yourself
Let me teach you to love yourself, because you are still growing. Your mind and your heart are reaching further and further around this world, and you are learning about life, and about truth, and about beauty. There is beauty all around us, dear, but there are thorns beneath roses, and that is true. When you get hurt like that, the way to heal those scratches and continue living is to love you.
Let me teach you to love yourself, because you should open your hands, instead of your skin. Open your mind, open your heart, because, dear, tears are salty and they sting on open wounds. But if you cry over uncracked skin, all that blackness can be washed away, and you smell like the air after rain. Clean, and clear, and with that whispered breath that good things will come here. There is room for love here.
Let me teach you to love yourself, because you don’t. Because your heart is broken into a million shards, and when I hold you they rip up my chest. Darling, I want what’s best for you, and it kills me that you look in the mirror and don’t like what you see, but you are beautiful, and your soul shines so bright that it shames the stars above. But you can’t see. I don’t know whether you were somehow blinded by your own light, or one day you got in a fight with the lies that told you you needed to be perfect and you lost.
Let me teach you to love yourself, because December is coming and with it a frost. Icy fingers that will take hold of you, make louder the lies that were told to you, with blackness so thick it will block out the truth, these things will destroy you if you let them. You’ve got to fight. You’ve got to love yourself so much that you will never be without light, you’ve got to hold your own hand when things get harder, dear, because no one knows how to comfort you like yourself, and if you’re reaching around in that darkness for someone else to hold you’ll leave yourself open to the cold that will etch itself into your heart and I’ll lose you.
Let me teach you to love yourself, because you deserve to be loved. And at the end of all things, when the world is against you and the sound of your own voice just adds to the screams of those who are deafened by anger, if you love yourself then there is no room for hatred in your heart. You can start a new day alone and be happy with the company. Because if I trip and I fall, and my love for you leaks away until there’s nothing there at all, I need to know that you’ll be okay, darling. That you’ll be loved.
Let me teach you to love yourself, because once you do, nothing will stand in the way of you. Because the pain will stop, and the sun will shine so bright that when the night comes, you’ll be able to bear it. Because there is so much to love about you, so much that I love about you, so much that this world cannot contain, and once you start loving yourself, dear, you will wonder why you haven’t been doing it all along.
I don’t understand why Maned Wolves aren’t more popular on tumblr, I mean look at them
they’re absolutely precious and
in every way
we clench fists into dirt,
praying for mother nature
to wash away our sins; to
wipe the tears from our
cheeks after we fall.
our ears have not picked
up on her voice; our souls
have not been soothed
over by the songs of her
winds brushing her children.
she sat in front…
When I get overwhelmed with feelings,
my brain goes into auto pilot
such that I do the opposite
of what I intended:
pushing people away
when I meant to hold them closer,
saying nasty things
to those I should be kindest too,
crumbling a lot under pressure.
I’ve always wondered how
The exploitation of my curves,
Will be the calming of my nerves,
& I haven’t a care where we start.
From the stars in your eyes,
Its so hard to hide,
The hunger that that tears you apart.
Don’t be so modest,
As you lie with your Goddess,
Its time we fought ice with…
about succumbing to waistlines, hairlines, deadlines
about drowning in your gene pool
that shallow, shared basin of misery and diabetes
about losing imagination
about buying all your dreams
and keeping the receipts because sometimes
sometimes you get audited and…
I am hoping this can be boosted, as we getting getting too close to desperate.
My mother has to very reluctantly rehome her cats in preparation for her moving into senior housing. We have found a home for one of them, but these two are proving weirdly difficult to place.
Their names are Ben and Jerry. They are about five years old, healthy and up to date with their shots. They are long-haired tabbies of indeterminate breed, although Maine Coon or Norwegian Forest Cat seems likely. They are lovey and sweet, love giving head butts, but not lap cats. They love nothing better than a good scritch, a sunny window, and a cardboard scratcher to kill and/or sleep on. They are pretty low key, and low maintenance except for long-haired cat grooming. I would love for them to go to a good home together, as they have never really been apart. They are currently located in north central Massachusetts. I can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org. Please post this wherever you feel it will be seen. Thank you.
I swim in sparks,
My problems burning so well;
Each concern further forcing open my flue.
Yet I still find myself surprised
When I look down and see
The volume of ash
Separated from my being.
I don’t know when the maelstrom
That will flame my demise
Will blow into my life
And scatter the rest of my form
But from my vantage point
It seems there is a storm on the horizon.
Ring, sit, escape
Maybe just relax and accept this moment
Realize that you’ve made itbthis far for a purpose
Or maybe you can only see it from view of logic and fluke.
The probable view of destiny is never clear.
But we must be empathic to humanity.
Feel the love of this universe…
"The Lindworm" by Naomi Butterfield
AMAZING OBSCURE FAIRY TALE, MUCH? OKAY OKAY OKAY, HERE:
A King and Queen ruled in a time of peace and abundance; the only mar upon their happiness was that they had no children, through their youth and even into their middle age, despite many fervent hopes and prayers. One day the Queen went walking on a forest path without her attendants. There, in the dark quiet of her despair, an old woman found her.
"My dear," asked the woman, "why are you so sad?"
"It doesn’t matter," answered the Queen, gently. "It wouldn’t make a difference if you knew."
"You may be surprised."
"The King and I have no children. He lacks an heir, and I have always wanted a child of my own to care for. But you see, that’s not something you can help."
"Of course it is," nodded the woman, for naturally she was a witch. "Listen and do as I say; take a drinking cup and place it upside-down in your garden tonight. In the morning, you will find two roses beneath it - one red, one white. If you eat the red rose you shall give birth to a son, and the white rose shall give you a girl. But remember that you must not eat both."
"No," the woman said.
Astonished, and not a little suspicious, the Queen agreed. That night she did as the old woman had instructed, and in the morning she discovered two small roses under the cup’s brim.
"But which one should I choose?" thought the Queen. "If I have a son, he may grow into a man who marches off to war and dies. If I have a daughter, she may stay longer with me, but I will have to see her given away in marriage. In the end, I may have no child after all."
At last she decided on the white rose, but it was so sweet to the taste - and the thought of losing a daughter to marriage was so bitter - that she ate the red rose as well, hardly remembering the old woman’s warning.
Shortly afterwards, as happens in such stories, the Queen was found to be with child. Her husband was traveling when the time came for her to give birth, and so he did not bear witness to what happened, which was this:
The Queen’s first child was no child at all, but instead there tumbled forth from her body the long, scaly one of a lindworm, a hideous dragon with a venomous bite. It scrabbled out the window on its two legs, even before the terrified midwives could move to do anything, and amidst the chaos the Queen delivered a second child as well. This one was a fine, handsome boy, healthy and perfectly formed, and the Queen made her midwives swear that they would tell no one what they had seen. And when the King arrived home, joyous at the news of his son’s birth, not a word was said.
Years passed, so that the Queen wondered if it had not been a terrible dream. Soon enough it came time for the prince to find a wife, and he set out with his guard to a neighboring kingdom to ask for its princess’s hand in marriage. But suddenly a great lindworm appeared, and laid itself before the prince’s horse, and from its jagged-tooth mouth came a voice:
"A bride for me before a bride for you!"
The prince and his company turned about to flee. The Lindworm blocked their passage and spoke again.
"A bride for me before a bride for you!"
The prince journeyed home to tell his parents. Distraught, the Queen confessed that it was true. The Lindworm was indeed the elder brother of the prince, and so by rights should marry first. The King wrote to the ruler of a distant land, asking that they send their princess to marry his son: but he did not say which one.
A lovely princess journeyed to the kingdom, and did not see her bridegroom until he appeared beside her in the Great Hall, and by then (naturally) it was too late. The next morning they found the Lindworm asleep alone in the bridal bedchamber, and it was quite clear he had devoured his new wife.
A second princess was sent, and a third. Both met the same fate, but each time the prince dared to embark on a journey, the Lindworm would appear again and speak:
"A bride for me before a bride for you!"
"Father," the prince said, " we must find a wife for my elder brother."
"And where am I to find her?" asked the King. "We have already made enemies of the men who sent their daughters to us. Stories are spreading fast, and I am sure no princess would dare to come now."
So instead the King went to the royal gardener’s cottage, where he knew the old man lived with his only daughter.
"Will you give me your daughter to marry my son, the Lindworm?" asked the King.
"No!" cried the gardener. "Please, she is everything I have in this world. Your monstrous son has eaten his way through three princesses, and he’ll gobble her up just the same. She’s too good for such a fate.”
"You must," the King said, "You must."
Distraught, the gardener told his daughter everything. She agreed to the King’s request and went into the forest so that her father would not see her weeping.
And there, in the dark quiet of her despair, an old woman found her.
"My dear," asked the woman, "why are you so sad?"
"I’m sorry," answered the girl, kindly. "It wouldn’t make a difference if I told you."
"You may be surprised."
"How can that be? I’m to be married to the King’s son, the Lindworm. He’s eaten his first three brides, and I don’t know what will stop me from meeting the same end. That’s not something you can help me with."
"Of course it is," nodded the woman again. "Listen and do as I say. Before the marriage ceremony, dress yourself in ten snow-white shifts beneath your gown. Ask that a tub of lye, a tub of milk, and as many birch rods as a man can carry be brought to your bridal chamber. After you are wed, and your husband orders you to disrobe, bid him to shed a skin first. He will ask you this nine times, and when you are left wearing one shift you must whip him with the rods, wash him in the lye, bath him in the milk, wrap him in the discarded shifts, and hold him in your arms."
"Do I truly have to hold him?" the girl asked, in disgust.
"You must. It may mean your life."
The girl was suspicious, but she agreed to the woman’s plan however absurd it seemed. When the day came for the marriage, she dressed herself in ten white shifts before donning the heavy gown they offered her. When she looked upon her husband for the first time, waiting for her in the Great Hall, her steps did not falter. And when she asked for the rods, the lye, and the milk, she said it with such ease that the servant could do nothing but obey.
Finally, the girl and the Lindworm were left alone in the darkened bedchamber. For a moment she listened to the rasp and click of his scales on stone, and heard his soughing breath.
"Maiden," said the Lindworm, "shed your shift for me."
"Prince Lindworm," answered the girl, "shed your skin first!"
"No one has ever asked me that before," the answer came.
"I am asking it of you now."
So the Lindworm shed a skin, and the girl shed a shift, but she revealed the second shift underneath.
"Maiden," said the Lindworm, a second time, "shed your shift for me."
"Prince Lindworm," answered the girl, again, "shed your skin first!"
They repeated this, nine times in all, and each time the Lindworm shed a skin the girl removed another white shift, until she was left wearing one.
The Lindworm, shivering and weak and bloodied, spoke his request a last time.
"Wife," asked the Lindworm, "will you shed your shift for me?"
"Husband,"answered the girl, "will you shed your skin first?"
And the Lindworm did as she asked of him, tearing himself free of scales and armor even to the bare flesh beneath, and the girl whipped the writhing creature with her birch rods until they snapped; she carried the whole massive length of him to the tubs, lye and milk, washed him clean and bathed him and swathed him in the shifts like a great, terrible child, collapsed to the floor with her husband in her arms, and there she stayed until, exhausted, she fell asleep.
When she woke, it was to the timid knocking of a servant on the door.
"Princess?" asked the servant. "Princess? Are you alive?"
The girl looked about the bedchamber: there in the morning light were the dried skins, and the tubs, and the broken rods, and the blood, and in her arms slept a pale, weary, but very handsome man.
"Yes," she answered. "Yes, I am."
The King and Queen were astounded and thrilled to hear how the girl had saved their son from his curse, and she ruled together with her husband for many long years, and thus closes our tale of the most intense game of strip poker that you shall ever hear.Whoa.
I love you.
I think I’ve always loved you.
When I was young, your name was my favorite,
But everybody always spelled it wrong.
My initials were never meant to have consonants.
Signing my name has always felt like a forgery.
I don’t remember what life was like without you,
All I know is that everyday was pain.
Every since I met you that November,
My bones have stopped screaming.
I miss you.
I miss your arms, your perfect anatomy - how I wish I could study you.
I miss your warmth, the heat, that rose and scorched until fire made two halves whole.
I miss your searching eyes, the way you would look, sometimes finding, sometimes not.
I miss the power you exuded, the black pieces of your soul flashing through your eyes.
I miss the hunger, the longing for a companion seen in our touches, holding hands was never enough.
I miss your barking laugh, the terror running across your eyes when the tickling didn’t stop.
I miss your thighs, I never told you, but the bulging muscle, the toned lines, the thick hair,
God, it was heaven, and I dared not touch for fear of marring such beauty, excepting twice.
I miss the way you held me, like you were holding me together, like you were breaking apart too,
Just thinking about those many moments brings tears to these eyes and sadness to my heart.
I miss your hobbit feet, you would have been very successful as one, if the plants stayed alive.
I miss making igloos with you and giggling like the school girl I never was, the smiles as we baked.
I miss the fear in your eyes when you were afraid you’d let too much slip, afraid I’d run screaming freak.
I miss your eyes when they read fear in mine and they exuded comfort and home.
Your eyes were never just brown to me, but hazelnut and chocolate, you were my home.
I miss your hands on me, in me, your gift to me in those moments was confidence and beauty.
You told me I was worthy and for the first time I believed, looking at myself with new eyes.
I miss your back, your shoulders rippling with strength every time you moved as we swam.
It spoke to me of perseverance and hard work, I valued this evidence of your heart.
I miss your lips on mine telling stories of time and patience, yielding, never judging, only accepting this broken heart.
I miss you.
I’m sorry for neglecting your heart.
You gave me everything,
And I held back, afraid.
I was too damaged,
Yet I am the one who is scarless.
You loved me with every piece of yourself,
And I stole, leaving little in return.
Now, I pay penance for my mistake,
Loving you from the shadows,
Afraid you will see and reject me,
Knowing that everyone else will
Read you in my eyes.
I can’t help but to hope as our conversations grow
Closer together as time passes.
I hope for a second chance, and
I will give you everything, love you with abandon.
Regardless of what happens, you are and will
Always be my best friend.
I know that is how I will love you,
Until the end.
maya angelou would say
to me pain is the most
distinguishing feature of life
it is sharp unambiguous distinct
whereas laughter love bliss
is a subtle all enveloping feeling
that comes on so gradually that
one hardly takes notice of it while
pain is like a knife
happiness is like a blanket in which
we are asleep under