Hacking away at a rock with another rock will shape the rock
you are hacking at by time, but the rock you are using might also break.
This can be frustrating and you may want to give up and go do something else,
but that is when you should get back on your feet, find another rock and continue hacking.
You might never feel that the rock you are shaping ends up perfect and you will always see flaws or
improvements to be made. Passion to do something isn't to finish it, it's to work on it.
I am 69% Immature AHUAHUAHUAHAUHAUAHAUUAH by TheWolfMadness, journal
I am 69% Immature AHUAHUAHUAHAUHAUAHAUUAH
duurrrr :B
[x] You have eaten fish food. (I can confirm it's disgusting xddd)
[x] You have eaten dog food.
[x] You have eaten cat food.
[x] You have run into a glass door.
[ ] You have eaten an ant.
[x] You have eaten grass.
[x] You have licked a tree.
[x] You have polka dotted underwear.
[ ] You have pink underwear.
[x] You had contests with your friends to see who can create the nastiest burp. (still do XD)
[x] You have screamed a random word in public. (Hella yeah!)
[x] You wave at people you don't know.
[x] You have flushed the toilet because you were bored.
[x] You have slapped yourself out of boredom.
[ ] You sing
How to love a girl who can't love herself. by lupus-astra, literature
Literature
How to love a girl who can't love herself.
one.
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
two.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
three.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says
Your number is blocked on my phone,
but sometimes I still text it.
In ways i'm kind of glad that
they'll never get close enough
for you to break my heart with.
Your name burns my throat
like the stomach acid
that still hits the bottom of the toilet bowl
when I think about the two of us.
It feels like forever since I could say
'The two of us'.
I miss you so much
that sometimes it makes me sick.
I wish it didn't have to be this way.
I wish WE didn't have to be this way.
No I don't want you back;
Even though the last text
I sent you that you'll never receive,
said that I did.
I'm sorry you're not around
to know how sorry I am.
You have been called "ugly."
You have been called "weak."
You have been called a "failure."
You have been called all of these things.
But at least you're not dead yet.
You've still got your life ahead of you.
You've still got all these years to cherish.
You've still got a lot to live for.
You might be on life support...
...but you're not dead yet.
All these years you spent in isolation.
All these years you hide away somewhere dark.
All this time you think about the odds.
But even while that appears to be the case,
You're not dead yet.
You have cancer in your whole body.
You have mesothelioma and bronchitis.
You have six days left to live.
I have one of your T-Shirts crumpled at the foot of my bed,
and I just want to grab it,
and cuddle with it,
and never let it go.
I know I can't do that anymore,
because you're not mine to do it with.
Maybe I should give it back.
But then I remember that it's the only thing I have left of you,
aside from the memories,
and I can't bare to lose those too.
I think I started sleep walking again
because I keep waking up with it in my arms,
though that's not where it is
when I go to sleep.
You don't really know what pain is until you catch his scent in your sleep, and reach out to someone who isn't there.
They say it gets easier eventually.
Th
Do not tell me that poetry is not an art.
Do not say that these bloodied,
trembling hands can not create a masterpiece,
because that is the only thing left,
that they can cling to.
Do not tell me that art is a form of expression
and that my words;
they do not express myself.
Do not call my work beautiful and then tell me it is not art,
If this is not expression what is?
If this is not art then what is?