I hate --I hate --5 years ago in Emotional
I hate that I have nothing better to do than to make this list.
I hate how I'm going to make about 43578978 typos while writing this.
I hate how I'm too lazy to go back and fix said typos.
I hate that I don't have word office or whatever to correct my typos.
I hate that my computer crashes every other month.
I hate how I still don't use a flash drive to back my work up.
I hate that I had so many unfinished, near-completion pictures I lost because of said crash.
I hate how long it takes me to finish art trades.
I hate how people take shit so seriously.
I hate that I used to take shit so seriously.
I hate how people can take the -internet- so seriously.
I hate that there will be those few select people who take these lists seriously.
I hate how out of those people, a few of them will pretend to take it seriously, but they really don't, and are just arguing for the lulz.
I hate how much I love reading do it for the lulz's stuff.
I hate yaoi.
I hate yaoi's incredibly scary fan base.
Such Sweet SorrowSuch Sweet Sorrow5 years ago in Emotional
Tell me about something that made you sad.
Uh. Okay. Let me think. [Pause] I was sad when I sent you to the airport in San Antonio. That made me sad You leaving again made me sad.
Yeah. That made me sad, too. Parting is always sad, but you know what's worse? It always gets better. The first couple times, you're likeshe's leaving, I'm so sad I'm going to cry. And then, after a long time, you get used to it. That is sad.
Yeah. I understand.
Mm. Let's sleep now.
She fell into a slumber quickly. I soon heard her gentle and rhythmic breathing next to me. But I stayed awake to ponder her words. Did parting really get easier as time went by?
I don't think so. If else, I feel that it gets harder. More painful each time to see her turn her back on me and walk away. It's just that I've gotten stronger, and I've learned to smile when I wave goodbye. And cry l
ObsessionIt takes 14 minutes and twelve seconds to walk to your home from mine every day. Your mother never fails to smile at me when she opens the door. I never fail to notice that it doesn't reach her eyes anymore.Obsession5 years ago in Emotional
You leave your door open an exact two point three centimeters. I don't think you do it on purpose. There is something wrong with the wood that has left it that way. I pause one foot outside the door and listen to you cough, trying to determine how sick you feel today. I hate that every time I think you are particularly ill, I am always right.
Six months, seventeen days and fourteen hours. That is how long its been since the doctors told us you had an illness. I sat there with your parents, listening to a man who said words like 'terminal' and 'leukemia', and counted the number of times he said 'patient' as if it were your name (Seventeen).
The blood bank says one unit is four hundred and fifty milliliters and I watch as they put the needle into my ar
I am eight years old.I am eight years old.I am eight years old.5 years ago in Emotional
My lips are perfectly pink. They don't need to look glossy or tinted redder. My cheeks don't need this, either. My eyes stand out well enough on their own without being lined with black paint. The mascara weighs on my lashes and makes me tired and itchy. This shit on my eyelids shouldn't be there, either.
That was a bad word. I am afraid to say bad words, but I've got a few in my head. My friend told me that the word "bitch" means "female dog," but I think she's wrong. I don't think I've ever heard it used in this context. Actually, I think it's a word for people like you. I say this to you with my eyes. You threaten me because you hear me loud and clear.
Every other weekend, I have to sit here and endure as you put this shit on my face. But that's not why you're a bitch. That's why you're an idiot. What makes you a bitch is the fact that you expect me to be silent and still every time your hand slips and the curling iron burns the top of my ear, or you
Don't Fall In Love With A Writer Just because they will bruise your neck with pearls of metaphors; and splash palettes of colours onto your chest with reckless waves and boundless twilight. They will smear ink onto your lips as you kiss them because that is how they leave hickeys. They are wildest in their 2 a.m. diary, and liveliest in book racks of novels; they have butterflies in every heartbeat and they breathe living poems. They leave trails in libraries and coffee shops like Hansel leaves crumbs in forest and they have undying lovers because every love story is ever living in their abyssal oceans of analogies and similes. They know every cliché like the sunset knows the moon rise, and every wound in their heart like blood in their veins. They are terrifying because they weave you in splinters of fires rolling down their cheeks. They are weird because they don't smile much but sometimes you could catch their smiles in poems or tales. They are psychotic bDon't Fall In Love With A Writer2 years ago in Emotional
ReflectionReflection4 years ago in Emotional
Cold and smooth is the surface of glass, but it doesn't have a color,
and it hides the naked truth unlike any other
You look so innocent in the truth, but it really, truly lies,
'cause the person that it sees right now hardly can comply
The glowing glass holds the image of you, but all it sees is perfection
you like to tease it is the truth, though it is only your reflection
Blinded by beauty is the mirror to only notice features
it compares you to the rest, lower than a creature
It can't see your pain inside, or understand your feelings
and you know as you move on, it's yourself you're slowly killing
You let out a cry of pain as you pound your fist into the glass
then you fall onto your knees and hope those feelings swiftly pass
The mirror breaks and is left confused as it lays there shattered
blood drips down your raw hand and your breathing slowly patterns
Now the mirror is just like you, it's broken and a mess
and you can't repair the pieces which are lower than they are les
You Are BeautifulAm I fat? Am I ugly? Am I stupid? Am I hated? Am I a failure? Am I loser? Questions. Questions we ask ourselves, questions others make us think about. The kind you ask yourself as you stare in your bathroom mirror, wondering if what they say is true; wondering if what you're thinking about yourself right now is the truth. You'll try and push your stomach in, you'll try and hide your spots, hide the wrinkles that you think you see. You will do all this and pretend; pretend to be different, pretend that this person you're imagining is who you should be; is a person better than who you are right now.You Are Beautiful5 years ago in Emotional
Before you know it, you're looking at those around you, wishing you were them. As you walk the halls of your school, as you walk down the nearby street. You'll convince yourself that they have everything and that you have nothing; you want their smile, their body, their hair, their face, because to you, they are better, they are something you could never be, they're beautiful and you're nothi
I Don't Need FriendshipI Don't Need Friendship2 months ago in Emotional
I don't need or want any friends at all
And it's completely and utterly inaccurate to imply that
Friends are shining stars that actually matter to me
I know in my very own heart and soul that
My friends will never stick around or put up with me
Please don't try to convince me that
Friends really do give you the strength to go on
I shall explain to you, in my own opinion that
Friends are the people who genuinely care about me
This, however will unfortunately never apply to me
In this dark, cruel, stagnant monotonous world
Only total and utter cretins will contemplate that
Friends will bring you the sentiment of lifelong euphoria
I would like to be self-evident in saying
I am who I am and I am proud of who I amI am who I am and I am proud of who I am4 years ago in Emotional
I am who I am and I am proud of who I am
The life I had before
is no longer mine...
The life I had been given
was not mine to begin with...
Once, I had awakened
from a dream unknown to me
Not to remember anything
that once meant everything to me.
A child I was, a pure soul
bound for unknown reasons
in this body, this shell...
Why am I here?
I was scared, stressed
I knew I was home
but the walls around me
were completely unknown...
I called for my mother,
the first who came to mind,
A man showed up and said
"Look at the time."
My mother had already been at work
it was noon
I couldn't remember much though...
I just knew...
Names... I couldn't remember...
Only faces to recognise...
the rest.... a mystery
that I never unwound
The names had to be repeated
for me to remember
Those people who maybe I knew
I couldn't remember.
A few friends I knew...
I played with them all day.
Other people knew me
but I didn't
TearsTears3 years ago in Emotional
It's tearing me apart. I'm breaking apart inside. I can't even smile. It hurts.
I can't do it anymore.
HoudiniMy brother killed a cat today. There was a famous Chinese general who once said that you would truly discover a man through his torture. I have come to disagree. When are we more exposed than when we are in sorrow, ridden by guilt?Houdini6 years ago in Emotional
My brother killed a cat today. It was a little cat, a black one named Houdini with long fluffy hair and a sweet face. I'd heard of Houdini before when his owner pinned a note to our door when we were out asking if we would like to take him in. She had mistaken us for our neighbor, who has eleven cats. Her name was Holly and she sounded like she was between jobs.
My brother killed a cat today. It was a little cat, a black one named Houdini with long fluffy hair and a sweet face. He hit it with his car. It's a white 1997 Toyota, an Avalon. Our grandparents gave it to us in mint condition (practically), despite over 100,000 miles on the odometer. He put a NASA sticker on it and a sticker that says, "+5 Car of Driving." Before my brother got it, my dad had it fo
zero.5. I think I'm afraid of sex.zero.3 years ago in Emotional
It's terrifying that two people can fit together perfectly, without even really liking each other at all.
4. I'm afraid of the day I start replacing myself with somebody else in all of our pictures; of the day I'll see my reflection and wish I didn't have to.
3. I'm afraid of doctors, and medicine.
The first time I took lithium, I couldn't hold it down. So I locked the bathroom door and flushed the entire bottle.
The second time, I couldn't walk more than ten steps without falling.
Honestly, I'm just wondering why they use poison to purify me.
2. I'm afraid of the ocean.
I'm afraid of looking down one day, and not seeing the edges. Of there being nothing there.
I'm afraid of falling and having nothing to catch me.
There's already nobody. The ground is really all I have.
1. I'm afraid of breaking things.
Like, once, I broke my dad's trust in me.
Once I broke somebody's heart.
Once I broke my kindergarten teacher's favorite
Furball [the cat that battled depression]There was one thing I was certain of when we met that day;Furball [the cat that battled depression]2 years ago in Emotional
You were the most miserable looking cat I had ever seen in my life.
A tiny white furball. Skinny. Unproportional.
Your legs were too short for your body, as was your tail. It made you wiggle when you walked. There was that thing about your face that just wasn't right. Weird, squinted eyes. You were always snotty, like having caught a cold that never ceased. And when you purred, it was strangely noisy. As if something had broken inside long ago. We always had that funny joke about you, in which we pictured you as a human being. The school nerd that got bullied on in class. The one with huge glasses, an unfitting haircut, and that always carried an inhaler with him because he was basically allergic to anything and everything. Because that was the kind of cat you were.
Still it was love at first sight when we met at the animal shelter, and you set yourself at our laps and started purring for no reason.
The girl at the a
Obsessive Compulsive DisorderWhen I was little, it use to amaze me how colors were made. In art class I would sit and mix paint because blue and red didn't stay the same when they fell in love. Every single color found its match and danced beautifully as I swirled them together. Black and white were my favorites. I'd pour the creamy paint into a bowl and watch as black and white swirls, turned into grey swirls and owned the container holding it captive. Grey was amazing to me. Because black and white are nothing alike, and grey is in the middle. Black is dark and scary and demanding. And white is graceful, and trusting, and clean. Grey is nothing. Grey is bland. And safe. Grey is careful. And I would do anything to be grey.Obsessive Compulsive Disorder5 years ago in Emotional
Friendship is black and turns to ash in my hands. It is dust, so hard to hold. I am keeping still so none escapes, but it feels like at any moment, the wind will kick up and steal it all away. Every move I make is monitored and judged. I am wary about my words and am second guessing everything.
She is...Her hands are not flawless anymore. Her nails not manicured and perfect in polish.She is...4 years ago in Emotional
They are worn, and a little wrinkled with cuticles that seem tired and old. Her nails are cut perfectly, but no polish or manicure grace them.
Her hair no longer falls in curled perfect ringlets of thick wavy strands... They are now mostly tied up carelessly, held in a clasp.
Her lips now wear an all day moisturizing gloss instead of that creamy lipstick that smelled like sun ripened fruit.
Her curves are fuller and her body seems to have grown to adjust for providing comfort and care... and not to tempt.
But her eyes still wear that sparkle... and they are livelier than ever. Her laughter rings out like peals of silver bells and fills up the house, overflowing, till it spills out of the doors and windows and lets the sunshine in.
She may not be the girl I brought home, years ago.... but she is the woman who stayed by my side, through hail and sun, as perfect smiles got replaced by visits to the dentist.
Are you happy now?I tried my best to please them all…Are you happy now?3 years ago in Emotional
They said that I always looked too angry
So I shaved off my eyebrows
They said I always dressed bad
So I took off my clothes
They said I cried too much
So I burned out my eyes
They said I wasn't listening
So I tore off my ears
They said I always said the wrong things
So I ripped out my vocal cords
They said I always faked my smile
So I ripped off my lips
They said my hair was a mess
So I cut it off
They said my feet were too big
So I broke them
They said I walked weird
So I saw off my legs
They said I played too much with my fingers
So I pulled off my hands
They said my arms were too thin
So I tore them off
They said my belly looked funny
So I cut out my stomach
They said I sat funny
So I removed my hips
They said I breathe too loud
So I ripped out my lungs
They said I always hung with my head
So I tore it off
They said my skin tone was ugly
So I removed my skin
They said my muscles were weak
So I ripped them off the bones
They said my bon
no wonder it took him 1455 pageswhen i was seven years old, a group of kids in my grade threw rocks at me for liking neopets more than webkinz. from then on, i was convinced i knew what hatred meant. but i don’t know how to describe it to the little girl who sits in the corner of my womb and in ten years might call me mommy and ask for help on dividing the world into black and white.no wonder it took him 1455 pages3 years ago in Emotional
would i point to the churches with their bigotry? to the cotton fields of the south in the 1800s? to the classrooms of modern day america? would i tell her about how the jews stood in straight lines, waiting to die, with fear in their eyes and faith in their hearts? or would i try and describe the sound tyler clementi’s body made when it hit the water of the hudson river after he jumped from the george washington bridge?
would i point to myself and say, “i am hatred, i am hatred to others. i am lying and cheating and stealing and coveting and jealousy and hubris. i am the idea of every time someone wants to kill someone
Nevermind My LoveNevermind My Love5 years ago in Emotional
-She- 'Bye! See ya!'
-She- 'What is it?'
(I Love You)
100 ONE DIRECTION FACTS AND QUOTES1. Harry has type B blood (yes, our fandom is crazy, we find out everything)100 ONE DIRECTION FACTS AND QUOTES4 years ago in Emotional
2. Niall's favorite restaurant is Nando's
3. Louis likes girls who eat carrots (you knew that was coming)
4. The boys made history when they became the first UK artist to debut at #1 on the US charts with their hit single "What Makes You Beautiful"
5. One Direction was formed on July 23, 2010 at 8:22pm
6. Zayn risked elimination on X Factor because he didn't want people to see him dance
7. Niall loves to eat. A lot.
8. Harry completely got pranked by Louis and Zayn when they had an actress pretend she was giving birth. But it just proves he's the most perfect person alive
9. Harry's worst habit is getting naked all the time
10. Zayn has mirrors all the way around his shower
11. Harry likes cats
12. "Vas happenin'?" ~Zayn Malik
13. Harry's birthday is February 1, 1994
14. Louis Walsh said no to Harry at his X Factor audition
15. Zayn's X Factor audition song was "Let Me Love You"
16. Liam initially auditioned f
Happy BirthdayWhen I breathe into the empty blue morning, my breath fogs up in the too-cold-for-this-time-of-year air and I wish I could pull it back into me. I'm not quite awake and not quite asleep, but I'm conscious of the day and the time and the rain that prickles my face through the open screen window. I wish you a quiet happy birthday under my breath because I might have lost the right to make you happy, but I'll still wish it forever.Happy Birthday5 years ago in Emotional
Your name on my lips hurts and it's a struggle to move the air past my vocal cords in a way that will actually produce sound instead of a whisper. I keep you so close to my heart that every time it beats it touches you and pulls at that small, perfect piece I've so carefully preserved which is really all I have left of you.
Every exhalation is a prayer and a thread of your memory gone. And it's time that tugs at the seams and makes the exact shade of your eyes blur and slide out of focus, but that might be the tears, actually. The salt makes the skin of my chee
The Galaxy Sings in B FlatThe galaxy sings in B flat.The Galaxy Sings in B Flat6 years ago in Emotional
Fifty-seven octaves below middle C, hundreds of thousands of tiny stars with little worlds trailing atmospheres in elliptical orbits. Double-star systems, triple-star, more; planets, civilisations, dark matter, tangible matter, all circling, swarming, humming together in one enormous note, not bumping together but carrying a wave from the centre of their island universe, expanding out into space
Sound cannot exist in a vacuum. This is a widely known fact. And space is a vacuum, sure. But only when you look at it from here, from our tiny little world. Close your eyes, zoom out, and look at the celestial spheres from their view; and space isn't so thin after all. Close your eyes, zoom in, and even our dense atmosphere is just atoms in a vacuum of their own. Sound as we know it, sure, that doesn't exist outside our little stardust orb. It's too small, too fragil
Tragic BeautyI remember lying in my hospital bed at the physical rehabilitation facility, far too many years ago, staring at a picture of a little girl. Someone had brought it in for me, though I didn't remember who or why. In the picture she was wearing shorts, and leaning to feed bread to the ducks gathered around her. I stared at the little girl's legs and cried. She was beautiful.Tragic Beauty5 years ago in Emotional
"I broke you," I whispered to her. "I'm so sorry I broke you. I never meant to. Please, forgive me." And she did, of course. But I'm not sure if that made it better or worse.
There was a poet staying in the room next to me. He was a brain trauma patient, unlike me. For some reason they'd moved me out of the spinal cord injury section of the hospital and into brain trauma. I never actually met the man, and yet some days I can't stop thinking about him. My mother brought me a book of his poems, a little pamphlet made of thick, sturdy paper. She said she thought I would like them. And I did. They were so hopef