This is me and I will no longer be updating this tumblr.
Having two tumblers is lame. Therefore, I decided to consolidate my online presence and am permanently shifting shop to my main tumblr. I will no longer be updating this one so please follow my main tumblr!
Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop talking to me
God. I sometimes just hate the way this all works. Why can’t I hug and be held and then have someone grab my waist and heart beat changes and races and this is where I and this is who and oh yes
Dream with your eyes open.
I want to heal this interminable hole, this hole that tears can’t heal, because baby I ain’t no phoenix and god.
Crying at 1 a.m., 2 a.m., 3 a.m., look at a painting, see your face, see your mess of a life in it. Holding back, paint brush wavers because you can’t make those strokes properly if you’re heaving.
4 a.m., still sitting in front of the canvas, tears falling down your face, just like the lines of paint dripping down. Take your hand, squeeze it hard don’t let go don’t leave me
squeeze red paint onto your hand, and smash it against the canvas.
This is for you.
Smear the red all over the white, why is it so ugly? Can’t hold back now.
This is for me.
White white canvas, dark lines, and red, so much red, right in the center.
This is me.
Don’t stop don’t stoppp
I feel a sort of ineffectuality about my self.
Breathe in, breathe out. Feel confusion. Feel a blur, feel the wind, then feel nothing.
I just want to hold and be held.
Nothing sexual, nothing like that. Just a deep, deep, deep desire to be protected, safe, hands holding hands-human-warmth-kind-of-safe.
Gentle gaze, wish to cry. Wish to reach out, explain, let go. Protect me. Keep me close.
I feel an ugliness about myself. Why can’t I be beautiful, on the inside and out? Why do I have to be this strange needy, irresponsible girl. Why am I like this? Why couldn’t I have been born with a heart as wide as open as the sea? Instead, why am I this silly princess of a girl (who isn’t even a princess because she isn’t even pretty) whose heart closes, not opens, a heart that’s deficient. I want to be more. I don’t want this.
I feel it. I feel frustrated. Why can’t you see me? Why can’t you see that I’m so vulnerable, broken? Can you look past all of THIS, these stupid displays of confusion, can you look past the shit I put on top of myself and just see… me?
Little, little me. Afraid, small, shy.
I’m just so shy. I just want to hold and be held.
I’m so cold. Alone. Where am I? I don’t even know if this is real. And I doubt it. How do I know I’m not in just some bleak projection of life?
Please, please, make it better. Can’t you hear me cry ineffectually for you? I can’t help it— and I don’t know what to do. No one wants to deal with a train wreck. No one wants to take on the burden, and it’s understable.
I’m just so fucked up, beyond tears, beyond words, beyond it all, a jump-out-of-the-window-just-end-it-all fuck up.
When did I become like this, so
So here I am, eating a raw cucumber with salt at 1:16 a.m. on a Wednesday (I suppose it is now Thursday) night.
In this moment of introspection, I kind of wonder about certain things and what
I don’t know. I’m not really doing what I want to be doing. I’m not the person I want to be.
I’m just confused I guess. 12 frames to go till I complete my 36 roll of black and white.
There’s a certain loneliness to how I feel. It follows me quietly, wherever I go. I feel home here, here at school. I have friends (though not as many as I’d like since I’m hella awkward)
god. I just want to feel life, to hold it’s hand and to sleep alongside it, breathing quietly, softly, drifting
It’s so cold here. “As cool as a cucumber”
Warmth, how I search.
I just feel a little
Don’t you ever wish you could read minds?
Wish I knew what people thought, what they felt
I feel so in the dark sometimes.
I try to play it cool but I
I don’t even know anymore ahaha
So much reading. So much mathh