Submit your own story"/>

This Is Why I'm Single

“This is a story of a girl who turned out wrong, because she only loved things that couldn’t love her back.” —Sophia, Skins

Submit your own story

mykicks:

My coworker was telling me that a friend of his (let’s call him “Jeff” for the sake of the story) went on a date with this guy (who we’ll call “Sam”) - they had coffee, great conversation, and they ended up back at Jeff’s apartment.

Things start to get a little hot and heavy, and they head to the bedroom. Then Sam says “Stop. Be still.” So Jeff is a little weirded out, but lies still and laughs, not knowing what’s going on. “BE STILL” Sam says angrily. So Jeff is now a little scared and lies motionless, not knowing what’s gonna happen.

"Now hum," says Sam. "What?" "Hum."

So he starts humming a Janelle Monae song, and Sam jerks off and cums within like two seconds, puts his clothes on and leaves without another word.

And that’s the story.

ramblingsofanurbanjawn:

iconics:

inhrtswake:

confictus:

ignorantarts:


you’ll regret me like the tattoos on your skin3.18.14

DEEP

OH MY GOD

ouch 

oh

shit

ramblingsofanurbanjawn:

iconics:

inhrtswake:

confictus:

ignorantarts:

you’ll regret me like the tattoos on your skin
3.18.14

DEEP

OH MY GOD

ouch 

oh

shit

(Source: delicatepoetry)

Everyone keeps asking me
what I’m doing with myself,
how I’m passing the time,
what I’m doing with my legs now
that they’re not swinging on the
train to your place.
I am waiting for you to come back to me, that’s what I’m doing.
I am waiting for you to pick up the phone
and call me.
I am pulling teeth.
I am plucking them one by one
and trying to forget what they looked
like pressed into your shoulder
or clinging to your neck.
The truth was an ugly thing
that I kicked out of our bed,
only to watch it climb back in
and take you from me.
I think you’re a coward
for letting it.
I think I could have loved you
better than anybody,
and I can’t stop making lists
of all the times I almost told you that.
That’s what I’m doing.
I’m twisting our story until
it stops remembering you
just so I can sleep at night.
But I’ll always be here,
hands like a broken record that skips
at the sleepless night before you
crawled back into yourself for good.
Just know that I’ve been waiting.
Know that you’re the first time I ever
swallowed my pride and then spit
it back up.
I hope you remember what your
bed felt like with me laying
honest in it.
That is what brave looked like.

— Caitlyn Siehl, Waiting (via alonesomes)

Some people feel like they don’t deserve love. They walk away quietly into empty spaces, trying to close the gaps of the past.

—  Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild

ADAM'S APPLE PIE →

meganfalley:

a recipe.

Ingredients:

- 1½ cups sugar.
– 2 hands (his) marinated overnight inside the woman you caught him with.
– His eye, the wandering one, al dente.
– The time he told you no one would ever love you as much as he did, meat-cleaved into a teaspoon of pulp.
– A bouillon…

The last line

(via sugarbooty)

haikuology:

those contemplating

wishing their ex a Happy

Valentine’s Day: don’t.

this is not their day,

in the same way that told you

"this isn’t our time."

so feed their love to 

the birds. or your mom. or best

friend since y’all were four.

do no re-open

that can of worms, when you can

re-open your heart.

today, love yourself.

give love to those who give love.

not past tense: gave love.

Valentine’s Day does

not belong to your ex. and

neither does your love.

so, don’t send that text.

but tell yourself, “I love you.

and you deserve love.”

-Scarlet Mack

(via geekscoutcookies)

mishaistheantichrist:

mishaistheantichrist:

(Source: relentless-soul)

Ten Things Your Single Friends Are Tired Of Hearing →

constantlyeffed:

1) “You’ll find it when you aren’t looking!”

This is typically where your advice starts. ”It’ll come along when you least expect it,” is also “You’ll find it when you aren’t looking“‘s retarded little sister. You can all just go fuck right the fuck off after you say this to anyone who is single….

A. Men.

You will be out with friends
when the news of her existence
will be accidentally spilled all over
your bar stool. Respond calmly
as if it was only a change in weather,
a punch line you saw coming.
After your fourth shot of cheap liquor,
leave the image of him kissing another woman
in the toilet.

In the morning, her name will be
in every headline: car crash, robbery, flood.
When he calls you, ignore the hundreds of ropes
untangling themselves in your stomach.
You are the best friend again. He invites
you over for dinner and you say yes
too easily. Remind yourself this isn’t special,
it’s only dinner, everyone has to eat.
When he greets you at the door, do not think
for one second you are the reason
he wore cologne tonight.

In his kitchen, he will hand-feed you
a piece of red pepper. His laugh
will be low and warm and it will make you
feel like candlelight. Do not think this is special.
Do not count on your fingers the number
of freckles you could kiss too easily.
Try to think of pilot lights and olive oil,
not everything you have every loved about him,
or it will suddenly feel boiling and possible
and so close. You will find her bobby pins
laying innocently on his bathroom sink.
Her bobby pins. They look like the wiry legs
of spiders, splinters of her undressing
in his bed. Do not say anything.
Think of stealing them, wearing them
home in your hair. When he hugs you goodbye,
let him kiss you on the forehead.
Settle for target practice.

At home, you will picture her across town
pressing her fingers into his back
like wet cement. You will wonder
if she looks like you, if you are two bedrooms
in the same house. Did he fall for her features
like rearranged furniture? When he kisses her,
does she taste like wet paint?

You will want to call him.
You will go as far as holding the phone
in your hand, imagine telling him
unimaginable things like you are always
ticking inside of me
and I dream of you
more often than I don’t.
My body is a dead language
and you pronounce
each word perfectly.

Do not call him.
Fall asleep to the hum of the VCR.
She must make him happy.
She must be
She must be his favorite place in Minneapolis.
You are a souvenir shop, where he goes
to remember how much people miss him
when he is gone.

— Sierra DeMulder, Unrequited Love Poem (via sierrademulder)

(Source: theoryoflostthings, via srsly)

(Source: callmeyadi, via mishaistheantichrist)

neighborhoodspaceman:

how-tokissdistinctly-american:

chriszee:

annfriedman:

Now, before you get all upset about a woman turning a modern man into the punch line of a feminist joke, remember that Stephanie still has 124 sandwiches to go.

#300glenfiddiches

Man must tolerate me petting 300 dogs to earn marriage proposal. #300bitches

Man must earn at least 300 dollars a day to earn marriage proposal. #300riches

Man must tolerate me at a Phillies game at least 300 times to earn marriage proposal. #300pitches

Man must tolerate me at a Flyers game at least 300 times to earn marriage proposal. #300voracekes

Man must spend 300 days working in the ER to earn marriage proposal. #300stitches

Man must spend 300 minutes figuring out why my work computer keeps blacking out randomly to earn marriage proposal. #300glitches

Man must play seeker in 300 Quidditch matches to earn marriage proposal. #300goldensnitches

Man must rally 299 more people to impersonate Hedberg to earn marriage proposal. #300mitches

Man must find 300 teens at a job fair that stop by his booth and misspronounce niche. #300nitches

Career man must write 300 television shows and present them to the major networks to earn marriage proposal. #300pitches

(Source: jessehimself)