That awkward moment when your best friend’s parents think that she has tried drugs (which she has not) and still believe that I would never.
among other coy racist lines. Was also told my hair might be saved if I straighten it. IF I STRAIGHTEN IT. The whole point of cutting off my hair was to save it from the damage I had already put it through via flat irons.
Not sure if I should be upset or forgiving, but I’m going with the latter for the sake of my mind.
Next week is the beginning of June. I am ready for this month, ready for the festival up North, a mini vacation for me and love, bound to be filled with drugs and good music and funky dancing and new friends and movies and tons of sweat and dark skin and awkward clothes. My job search will properly begin, and we will become money hoarders, treating ourselves on occasion (translation: more times than necessary). We will take early morning runs; he will push my body and I will comply, mostly. We will find a place to call our temporary home. It will be a month of metamorphosis, of growth within and without. It is only the beginning; it is always the beginning.
Maybe 3, depending on credits and time. Just a few more years here in this state; if Eddy and I can’t save up enough money to leave the country, at least we can get out of this state, go somewhere up north. Maine sounds lovelier everyday.
It doesn’t take a life to learn how to live
Grab what you love in your hands and love it
now and hard because its always leaving
You are a divine heavenly being.
Born, crafted, and created perfectly.
Be who you were born to be.
People are not made broken or incomplete.
They become that way through change.
Things can always change.
That is the only truth I’d give my name.
Believe in anything as long as you truly believe.
Heal yourself. Fight for love. Save the Earth.
(Source: skylerdrake)
walking around my partially packed apartment
my camera started whispering things
remember me
memory
all sort of nostalgic things
then my legs started shaking
my head started racing
my heart started breaking
(Source: skylerdrake)
My Astronomy courses didn’t transfer, which is actually fine with me. I’m hoping to take Introduction to Nutritional Science and Earth Science, both of which would apply to my life. Since I’m being hopeful, fingers are crossed for Photography and Ceramics as well.
I want the empty parts of my upper left arm to be covered by blotches of colors, hues of purples and reds and blacks with subtle drips of white. I wanted this to emanate the sky, but I’m fine if it looks more like swirled oils, decadent colors reminiscent of drunken hazes of wine.
for Eddy and I to have on file; I’m no where near complete (pah, can I ever complete such lists?) but so far, I have separate lists for:
Vegetarianism/Food/Animals
African American History
20th century literature
19th century literature
18th century literature
Older works to 17th century literature
Plan on adding biographies, more non-fiction, and poetry. And whatever else comes to mind.
Backyard’s dead.
Front yard’s dead.
I hope life springs from this dirt.
I hope roots cling to the earth from flowers newly planted;
I hope the dirt lingers beneath my fingernails.
I hope my parent’s let me have a hand in fixing this, and sometime soon.
The truth is, I hate you, but only because of the way you turned my soul to glass and let it shatter, each piece slicing through skin as fragile as silk. The excuse is in the inspiration, but I’ve got nothing more to feel, nothing left, the ageless whisper continuing to smother my eyes and flare what’s inside. This isn’t normal. It lies and frets, pretends to forget, but then all noise disappears and with it the daily distractions of an unproductive mind who gets the most done at night, hiding under duvets and cowering in her sleep.
This isn’t normal, but I grasp it as so.
My hair’s falling out; could it be the stress? Stress from what: an unrequited emotion I only pretended to feel? The summer set sail and with it, the fantasies that overestimated reality, believing the moment was too right, the adoration, too real. Too…simple. Yet here it goes again, to the point of blurry eyelids and slurred smiles, because I know connections pull through, if both parties are willing to consume the overbearing dreams and why are my thoughts the same as yours?
Silence; distance provides solace in the unwritten excuse, in the improbable failure, with no explanation or warning. Just a simple click and yeah, fuck you, too. This is normal; therefore, presume.
