is it morally right to abandon this account? i want to, but i've tried before and failed.
the thing is, i have a Special idea and i don't wan my previous writing to mess with said Special idea.
1:54 am"i never sleep," is a joke1:54 am by Irrelephantlovesyou
i tell to anyone
who wants to hear it
(and even those who don't).
you see, it's funny
because i'm the joke;
i'm always cat-napping
(and never fully awake).
they say, while laughing,
my sleepless in seattle
joke was never amusing
(and not because i live there).
i'm not a violinist, eitheri'm told i havei'm not a violinist, either by Irrelephantlovesyou
a pianist's hands,
which never struck me
as bizarre until
i was typing on
trying to ignore
the pangs of melancholy
in my chest.
i failed to realize
i was hurt only
because i had forgotten
my own dream
of being a musician.
but not a
pianist, of course,
because this dream
needs to be
a hands-off project.
on the rocks"look," she tells me, looking up from her somewhat scientific magazine, "this article says there's this ugly rock that has crystals inside."on the rocks by Irrelephantlovesyou
my response is a mere grunt as i shove more cereal into my mouth. how many days have i eaten life, that one cereal brand with the ominous name? probably at least once per day is my estimate — for the past few years, that is. maybe it's thee common denominator in the equation of why my life is so plain.
she goes on to show me the article. "they're called geodes," she informs me.
"i don't care," i reply, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. i stand up and march my empty bowl to the sink.
and as i head upstairs, i realize i never even saw what they look like.
GEODES, i type into my search bar once i'm back at my computer. the word is in all capital letters because i accidentally turned caps lock on. i turn it off as i hit enter. i'm instantly taken to images of the rock.
i soon realize how
drama queeni've never been a good actress. my greatest theatrical performance was playing egg number two in the first grade production of old mcdonald had a farm. i've landed roles here and there since, but for years i was sure that would be the pinnacle of my nonexistent acting career. all that was required of me was to bob up and down in time to the music, singing about chickens, eggs, and other things i didn't give a shit about. it was gloriously easy and nothing would ever top the attention i got afterwards.drama queen by Irrelephantlovesyou
up until three days ago, that is.
i got in a fight with her and she spat out the d word so often that it was almost as if she was shooting darts. in the center of the dartboard was myself, of course. and though i never let on, each toss resulted in a bulls-eye. my name and the word drama were always paired together, she said (though she phrased it in a way far less poetic than that). and of course anything i said could and would be used against me to fuel the fire. she claimed i made peop
rumpelstiltskin, part iTheir first meeting is remarkably inauspicious.rumpelstiltskin, part i by lorraineslh
She is running away from school for the third time that year, dodging the schoolyard bullies who like to hurl pebbles and twigs and insults that hurt worse than either of the former, when she trips and falls in front of an unfamiliar garden, surrounded by a bristly hedge.
"Who're you?" comes a voice from over the hedge.
She looks up, startled, prepared to flee—but it's not the rowdy, frightening bullies from school. It's a smallish figure, a boy, crowned with sunlight and robed in scents of summer.
"I'm—I'm—" she stammers.
"You're disturbing my day," says the boy, his voice irritable. He eyes her, and says, "You fell over or something?"
"You got a bruise," he says, indicating at her cheek. "Ugly one."
"No," she says, feeling tears well up in her eyes. She blinks, hard. "I'm—the boys at my school. They don't like me very much."
She looks down and scuffs the ground with her shoe, noticing the wa
five things they don't teach you in highschool1.five things they don't teach you in highschool by Khaimin
it's okay to fall in love.
i mean, they tell you you're never going
to marry your high school sweetheart and i'm not going
to tell you it's a lie
because it's not. you guys will probably
break up and it's gonna hurt like hell
but you'll be okay. remember, you are not the only one
who has felt loneliness like a knife,
the only one to know the pain of lungs collapsing
because they were your air,
and you will never be the only one who whispered
"i love you" two lives too soon.
you will not be the last one to have tucked
hair behind their ear and leaned in for a kiss
or the last one to wake up reaching for a hand that's no longer there.
but it's okay.
your favorite book will not always be your favorite.
like you, it will change over time
to something unrecognizable
that gives you only a vague nostalgia in the tips of your fingers.
flipping through the pages will never
feel the same again.
you will learn to love something new;
your next favorite will teach you something about y
Hi. I'm random person #21 you met on the internet.|
A little about me:
I cannot tie shoelaces or whistle or cook without making a mess, but I am good at writing and underwater basket weaving and giving advice to never follow.