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10

Apr

Words sent to me from my boyfriend on a night apart.

On the quiet fluorescent train ride home alone
The mere hours we spend apart are better described as days
The infatuation has blinded and blurred all sense of time
It isn’t that I haven’t seen you in forever
It’s that any time apart equates to an eternity
Time without you is simply a layover
The waiting for the next stop on this relationship itinerary
The people and places and time passing all blend into a wet cement mixture that we kick our feet out of when we reunite and reignite
This incredible thing we call love.

-r

05

Apr

unatheblade:

biscuitsarenice:

We Can’t Get Out Of The Bedroom Now.

Shirley Maclaine on Parkinson in 1975

Mind. Blown.

Lately, I’ve learned the power of what it really means to be loved, and adored, and admired, and respected, and cared for. It feels nothing short of empowering, and exciting.

It is important to fall asleep with someone who asks you, voice steady under the sheets, what are the 3 words that describe the very inches of your feelings. And it is very important to wake up to someone who tells you they wouldn’t have it any other way. 

I just want to travel all the continents, and take all the polaroids, and write all the poetry. With you and for you. 

-b

04

Apr

01

Apr

A man and his (girlfriend’s roommate’s) dog. 

I love my polaroids! 

A man and his (girlfriend’s roommate’s) dog. 

I love my polaroids! 

30

Mar

(Source: inspired-for-lifee)

26

Mar

love, blurred. 

love, blurred. 

I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday.
Lemony Snicket (via siftingflour)

(Source: theunquotables)

16

Mar

muuunn:

drunk writing is ok sometimes 


This is everything.

muuunn:

drunk writing is ok sometimes 

This is everything.

14

Mar

this time it’s different

I should be doing my homework,

I should be changing over my laundry.

I should be doing my homework.

But it’s a Friday night, and I am not waiting tables,

instead I am sitting in a barely lit room, writing another trail of words about you.

And I can’t stop thinking about yesterday.

Sitting on my bed, the afternoon overcast lighting us up with a drowsy need for romance.

We kissed for as long as our lips would let us.

You were like the safest, warmest, hammock.  

I should be doing my homework.

But I am stuck on last night. Crooked in a bath tub with you. I am vulnerable, you are happy. 

The bathroom is laced with smoke, and you look impossibly and vivaciously content. The world becomes a kaleidoscope of everything you are. Everything I am. A mosaic of five months into a firework of the most simple kind of utopia. 

And I can’t believe that you are mine. 

We are naked in the bath on a Thursday night, we don’t talk much, and there is no where else we could dream of being. I don’t remember ever being this serene. 

This is what love is like with you.

I should be doing my homework. 

This time it’s different. I could write it in all my poems, I could tell all my girlfriends, speaking too fast so that I don’t miss the story about the time you brought me flowers when I was sick.

"But this time it’s different."

The way you look at me scares me. There is so much love in those caramel eyes they could gulp me up. 

I am in awe that someone could love me enough to have it radiate from their eyeballs. 

I wonder if you can tell that the way my stomach folds during sex gives me the worst kind of anxiety. 

I am in awe that after more beers than I’d probably like to know, you sway towards me with such adoration that I feel like my heart might burst out of my throat for you. 

This time it’s different. 

I am in awe that we are drunk on a Monday. My back is in your chest. We are not at our type of place and your arms laced around my ribcage feel like the womb. Your beard tastes like whiskey. You tell me you want to be with me for as long as we are this happy. You tell me you want to see the world with me. I believe you. 

This time it’s different. 

My kitchen feels cold every morning that we are not deciding how to make our eggs. 

Thank you for walking the dog last night.

This time it’s so different. 

-b

09

Mar

doctor?

Is there a diagnoses for being completely disinterested in my last semester of school, obsessively stressed about money, hopelessly needing to travel, falling impossibly in love (again), horribly disconnected, hyper aware, and entirely unmotivated but also ridiculously ambitious?

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? 

26

Feb

When you’re feeling sick, and a boy comes right over, brings you flowers, puts on the perfect movie, and still looks at you like you’re a rare ruby even though you told him you barfed at work.

Keep him around. 

25

Feb

healthy.

I have been in a number of relationships. Most of them toxic, suffocating, and detrimental to my mental health, to my bank account, and to my overall well-being. Usually not all of those things at once, but at some point, whether they started off happy, or ended in plea, since the age of 16 I have engaged in these consistent webs of lovers that make me feel like shit. 

I have a number of girlfriends and male friends that admire my strength to break free from these binding relationships and start fresh. Sometimes I do that in different continents, completely alone, and sometimes I do that while writing ridiculous amounts of poetry.

I also have a number of friends that scold me for inevitably engaging in another impossibly romantic endevour with another man who seems perfect but once again, leaves me gutted. This is my achiiles heal-love and my inability to run away from it. I am a romantic. I am a lover. I am a poet. And I feel the strongest when when I have broken free from love, or when I am coddling it endlessly. My adult life has been a vicious cycle of loving, and hurting and that spell has been on repeat for the better part of seven years. Seven very long and arduous years. 

Finally, I feel that I have dipped my calloused feet into a healthy, loving, and beautiful relationship. I have thought this before mind you, but in the past, I was used, I was condescended, and I was suffocated. I was not Brittany Tiplady, writer, dancer, and dreamer. I was Brittany Tiplady who cares nauseatingly for her boyfriend, and all of his whims and fuck my own because being a girlfriend means being an obedient house pet. Right? 

And so, after ending a long distance pseudo marriage with a man I truly believed would be my husband someday, I had a lot of reflecting to do. And by reflecting I mean I needed to re-learn what it means to be a woman, what it means to be me, and what it means to be a partner in a healthy relationship that suits both my lifestyle and that of my partner. It was a long road that beat the shit out of my self-esteem, and after talking emphatically to all the right women and all the right men, and being encouraged by all the right friends, I rebuilt myself into the woman I want to be. The Brittany Tiplady that is a strong and confident 23 year old human being finishing her degree, hustling three jobs, struggling with a shopping addiction, planning a year long trip to Europe, writing impossible amounts of poetry, and loving a new partner that has fuelled all of those things, and more. Instead of taking them away from me. 

I did not know that being with a man, in a healthy way, was supposed to encourage all the things I dreamt of and then encouraged me to dream a little more. I did not know that my wants and dreams and wishes, were not supposed to be suppressed or entirely sacrificed. They were supposed to be encouraged. They were supposed to be the reason why someone loved me. I didn’t realize that I shouldn’t be loved because I gave up everything I wanted for that person. But that I should be loved, because having my own goals and ambitions, and keeping them, is all the more sexy, and all the more beneficial to my partner and to the beauty that is honing a personal life and personal goals and getting to stay up all night sharing them with your lover.

I still struggle everyday with keeping my identity and staying strong in myself, and most importantly with my self image, but I feel exceptionally lucky to have someone sleeping next to me, that helps me do that. Early in the year, I had beers with a very important male friend in my life who lives in New York and was visiting for the holidays. It was his first time seeing me post-pseudo marriage break-up and I was feeling mightier than ever. He told me, that without realizing it, I had really lost myself in that relationship. And I finally had my traveling, loving, writing, self back. I think it was that conversation that kept me on the hike back to my self discovery, self empowerment, and self worth.

And I feel really good to finally be getting there.

-b

20

Feb

counting all the beautiful things.

My bills are out of control,

and I am barely pulling in enough money to break even.

But I have intense plans to travel,

handfuls of creativity, 

a lovely roof over my head,

and an amazing man that makes me feel 8 feet tall and overwhelmingly, exceedingly, and powerfully loved and admired.

So, I can not help but wake up feeling exceptionally grateful all the damn time. 

-b

08

Feb

(Source: movieshift)