18 Struggles Only Over-Thinkers Will Understand

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"how far have you walked for men who’ve never held your feet in their laps?
how often have you bartered with bone, only to sell yourself short?
why do you find the unavailable so alluring?
where did it begin? what went wrong? and who made you feel so worthless?
if they wanted you, wouldn’t they have chosen you?
all this time, you were begging for love silently, thinking they couldn’t hear you, but they smelt it on you, you must have known that they could taste the desperate on your skin?
and what about the others that would do anything for you, why did you make them love you until you could not stand it?
how are you both of these women, both flighty and needful?
where did you learn this, to want what does not want you?
where did you learn this, to leave those that want to stay?"

- Warsan Shire is now talking to me. Directly. 

(via darkasstrongtea)

Source: whatsefuck


This poem is not a Hindu.
This poem is eager to offend.
This poem is shallow and distorted.
This poem is a non-serious representation of Hinduism.
This poem is a haphazard presentation.
This poem is riddled.
This poem is a heresy.
This poem is a factual inaccuracy.
This poem has…

Oh teri!!! 

Source: darkasstrongtea

Sooha Saaha: red rabbits and red bangles. With darkasstrongtea and aliafarooqui :)


Arun Ferriera's drawings of prision



my life in a metaphor: she got a tan and I got a sunburn

Source: tiny-whitedresses


In a way, I think people are a lot like paintings. In the beginning we look for the details, the flaws, the discolouration. We notice things about the painting and we decide we like it enough to take home.

Like people, we become familiar with the painting and it’s colours somewhat blur each time we take a glance. Instead of the details you admire the array of blurred colours. The colours are beautiful like that. It is no longer necessary to pay attention to the scratches in the corners or the funny looking star in the sky.

And I think that’s how friendship works. Over time a person becomes beautiful and you find yourself spending less time on what makes them different and more time admiring their blur of colour. So when somebody calls you beautiful, I think maybe they mean it.


Source: already-someone


She was the order in his chaos
He was the chaos in her order

She was the joy in his sorrow
He was the sorrow in her joy

Everyday, they longed for each other 
Together, they longed for the whole.

संग में जंग, या जंग में संग?

Source: shreyasrao