GOING TO SCHOOL IN THE SOUTH
454I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE LIKE:
BUT IT WAS REALLY LIKE:
(Source: lindseysaturday, via theclearlydope)
Late night butt workout while I’m brushing my teeth!
This is real. You are real. She is real. I am real, but yet I am the one who is lifeless. You’re happy and stable. I’m a free floater trying to compensate for what I am lacking in my life. I admit that I never thought it’d be like this. I never thought I’d feel like part of me has been removed. I never did.
0Time—a mere illusion to our incapable minds. Time moves fast. Time moves slow. But does it really? It’s passing us by at a steady rate which means we are dying at a steady rate. We can’t ever get time back. Once it slips through your fingers, it’s gone forever. My time is disappearing faster than I can hold on to it. I’m not ready to move on. I could be extremely cliche and say I wish I could pause time, but I won’t. I don’t want to pause time. I want to enjoy the time I have. I don’t want to be stuck. I just feel like things are moving so quickly and I can’t catch up. I think we all want the same things; we want happiness, love, good health. How we get there and how we approach that road is a different story. Some people will tear you apart to reach their own happiness. You can’t do anything about them except to just smile and keep moving forward in time. The people who you thought were different than everyone else may end up surprising you. Even trees lose their leaves which give them shine.
0I may not be perfect. I may not be your kind of beautiful. I may not have anything in common with you anymore. But I am NOT condescending and hurtful like you. My life is not a joke and neither are my feelings. Maybe one day you’ll realize that being genuinely mean won’t get you anywhere. Maybe one day you’ll grow up. I never seen a more hurtful personality fill the air in a room. You do know that not everyone loves you right? You say you’re “keeping in real” but you’re actually just being an asshole that no one wants to deal with. So, I apologize for trying to point that out to you. This is why we can never be more than casual acquaintances because our relationship is more than broken. It’s true when you say I don’t know you anymore.
0ONEDOZENREASONS.: THE FAT BURNING SHOPPING LIST »
100THE FAT BURNING SHOPPING LIST:
Eggs – This great breakfast food is also one of the best fat burning foods out there. Eggs have the capability to emulsify fat which will then be easier to break down and used up as energy by the body.Seafood – Any type of sea food…
I am feeling worn down, you could even say reckless. You may ask why, but no answer comes to mind. My unconscious thoughts flood my mind. I miss the feelings of home. Yes, I have adapted and am well, but through it all, I still cannot survive alone. I feel heartbroken at the thought of never returning to that state of innocence. You can never “un-see” something or “un-learn” an idea once it has been engrained in your mind. So, yes, I see the simplicity of it all, but also the fears and challenges.
The world is moving swiftly before my eyes. I see it all happening, yet I feel like I am standing still. It is like I am standing behind a window. The world is bright and full of youth. I see that. But on my side of the window, green is gray and air is water. I know what is happening, yet I do not understand. I can feel it. I just cannot grasp it. Because of this, I am alone. I may be surrounded by people, but I am alone in thought. And that is the coldest feeling of abandonment that any creature can feel, to know that you can’t explain yourself properly. Your ideas come off frazzled. People make up excuses for why you feel this way, but they don’t know. Someone cannot honestly tell me they know exactly how I feel. Everything in life is interpreted in different ways. Happiness could mean eating a sandwich or talking to a friend.
I want to move forward. I want to step outside the glass. I want to know.
0Stressed Post #1
I miss the simplicity of life. I miss not worrying about not knowing. I almost miss being told what to do all the time. Granted, I do have people telling me what to do now and I somewhat hate it. But, I was being told to do simpler tasks. I feel worn and weary. I know I am strong enough to keep pushing. I hit a wall every now and then. I just have to figure out how to get over it. I let little things affect me more than they should. It’s not something I can necessarily help. I just get so overwhelmed by everything surrounding me and even by what is so distant from me. I forget about the people I love. I tend to neglect everything close to me when I panic. I distance myself because I want to rely on my own instincts. I miss the people who kept me in line. I should do a better job at being a better person, a better friend. I know that they will still be there when I return to my normal self. I don’t always understand why this happens to me, but I always learn something new about myself. I find new strengths within myself that I didn’t know could exist. Life is all about how you take it as it comes. I’m certainly doing that now. I love this feeling, yet I absolutely hate it at the same time. I love to learn how strong I can be, but I hate feeling like I’m being torn apart. It will all come together soon. Everything always gets better and I have to remember that.
0Sometimes I feel like I can just conquer this world on my own. I realize that I can’t and I need help, but I’m just too stubborn to ask for it. Maybe not even stubborn. I just know that other people may hinder my success. I know where I want to go and will wander until I get there. I definitely take the path less traveled on. It gets hard being on your own. I feel like I am having to grow up so fast right now with everything that I am going through. Granted, there are people who have been going through this at a much younger age than I. It just sucks. Some things you just can’t help. Growing up is one of them.
0Pat Brown: Where I hope to be in 5 years. »
73
Someone recently asked me this in an interview. This is what I wrote:-“I have wanted to do so many different things throughout my life so far. I’ve wanted to be professional shoelace knot undoer, a video game tester, a marine biologist, a teacher, a professional skateboarder and a…
I knew the rules going into this. I knew the game you were playing. I was fully aware of your intentions. I tried to cheat you. You’re cunning, charming, sincere. You knew what I was going to try to do. You knew I was smarter than most. You’re still in the lead, playing by your own rules. When I thought I could beat you, it was just an illusion. You knew all along how to get me to play. You know how to work a person. Manipulative, sly, trustworthy. I fell for it all. You knew that although I have a strong head on my shoulders, I would still fall back to my natural instincts. I was not naive going into this. I knew what would happen. But maybe I was naive to think I could cheat the system. It’s funny because you think you’re winning. And you may be ahead, but you are not winning. Even though I may be behind, I will not let you win. You will see that your rules won’t get you anywhere. You will not win your own game because I’ve taken matters into my own hands. I will not be fooled by your smile, your laugh, your lies. So, I’m going to play by my rules now. Let’s see how long you can play. Game on.
0I could’ve sworn this was going to be easy. Maybe I’m in over my head. Maybe they were all right. What if I can’t do this? My guard is up. There’s no question about that. But you still get past that shield. It’s hard to ignore it. I let it happen anyways. What if I’m not as strong as I think I am?
0Communion
Communion
by: Jeanann Verlee
I know a boy who called his girlfriend’s body a “crime scene.” Dad, my body is a crime scene. My body is lint and gasoline and matchstick. My body is a brush fire. It’s ticking, Dad, a slow alarm. I have rain boots. Lots of them. It isn’t raining anymore. The words are coming back, Dad. The way they fit and jump in the mouth. I want ice cream and long letters. I want to read long love letters but I don’t think he loves me. I think I’m used up. I think I’m the grit under his nails, the girl who looks good in pictures. I don’t think he loves me. I think they broke me, Dad. I think I drink too much and it’s because they broke me. I heard about two girls recently, two women crushed like cherries in a boy’s jaw. It opened me, Dad. My body is melted wax, it is ripe and stink and bent. It is a mistake. I walk like an apology. I don’t hate men, Dad, I don’t. I want a washing machine. I want someone else to do the dishes, someone to walk the dog. I have a hornet in my head, Dad. A hornet. She’s an angry bitch — she hurls herself against my skull. She stings. And stings. I know I don’t make sense, Dad. This is the problem. I’m a sick girl, a crazy wishbone. I have razors under my tongue. I’m sorry I cut you, Dad, I’m so—so sorry. I gave you a card for Father’s Day once, it said you were my hero. You are. Your laugh is a thunderclap, you love like surgery. I think they broke me, Dad. I can’t erase their faces. I want to swim, Dad. Remember when I used to hopscotch? I used to make you laugh. My feet are hot. The bottoms of my feet are scorched sand, August asphalt. My body is a slug, a mob of sticky wet rot. No one touches me anymore because I’m rot. Because my body is a spill no one wants to clean up. They cracked me open, Dad, I know you don’t want to hear about it. You don’t want to hear how they scissored me, how they gnawed me like raw meat. No one wants to hear how they made me drink lemon juice, how they kicked the dog, how they upturned the furniture, no one wants to hear how my skin turned to a dark thick of purple and black and lead. I watch the homeless a lot, Dad. I watched a man with a cup of coins and chips of skin carved out of his face. He had freckles. He needs medicine, Dad. He needs to stop the hornet. My body is a hive. I am red ants and jellyfish. A yellow sickness. My body is a used condom in an alley in Jersey City. I don’t think he loves me, Dad. My body is a fetus in biohazard tank. A Polaroid pinned to a corkboard in Brooklyn. I think I’m hurt, Dad. I think I was the tough girl for too long. My body is a wafer, a thin, soft melt on a choir boy’s tongue.
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