If it doesn’t make you happy, leave. Scream, punch, kick, cry, laugh in their face and keep walking, call your mom, call your best friend, call the operator and ask them to transfer you to Customer Service, eat a tub of ice cream and feel good about it, go for a walk, climb a tree and read your favorite book,
blast the only Led Zeppelin song you know and cry along to it, spin in circles, draw a picture, count to 347, paint yourself yellow and chant with the sun, dress up, put on black lip-stick and smear it off, then make love to yourself in the tub.
If it doesn’t make you happy you are to do anything but stay. You are to stay composed. You are to leave without hesitation.
Leave and only look back when you understand that mediocrity is for the ugly the bored the losers and your co-worker who eats the same lunch every day.
If it doesn’t make you happy, ball up your fists- let your manicure drip crimson red, smile, and mean it- if it doesn’t make you happy.
Before I knew it, I could already feel myself falling for you because I could remember the first time I saw you and felt nothing. You were nothing more than a friend to me. And now, when I look at you, my heart begins to race and I mess my words up. I tried to hide it but I ended up acting like a elementary child, whom are mean to who they like. I’ve never felt this way before and it’s scary. It’s like riding a new bike, hoping that I don’t fall and get hurt.
You messaged me a few months ago and checked up on me. For a split second, we talked like how we used to when you were mine and I was yours. Then reality hit me, we’re not together and I was only picking up a call from my past. It was nice to hear from you but I didn’t want to take this so-called friendship to the next level again. So I started ignoring you.
I ignored you because I knew that if I let you in again, I wouldn’t be able to let go this time. I knew that the feelings would rush back in and I would be trapped in your spell. I just didn’t want to risk actually seeing you again and falling for you all over.. Again.
A few weeks later, I had saw you at a party. In my mind, I was thinking, “please don’t talk to me, please don’t talk to me,” because I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from talking to you. But once you opened your mouth and the words, “hey, I miss you. How have you been?” had fell out. I felt nothing. Your eyes didn’t sparkle like they used to and you didn’t have that glow in your smile or that particular tone of voice that used to make my heart melt. You were different. And I was different.
I, then, realized that I had moved on a long time ago. I wasn’t in love with you anymore.
It was like I relived that moment again. It was like if you had just broken my heart a few days ago and it finally kicked in. Never. Never again, will I let my heart convince my mind that it’s okay to fall one more time.
I’m walking down memory lane. As I am walking down, I see your face, you’re standing there and these feelings rush in like pouring rain. It was almost as if I was still in love with you again. I knew then that this feeling was only temporary, so I kept walking. I didn’t look back because I knew you wouldn’t be there.
But it was weird. Because for a second, I genuinely felt like I was still in love with you. Your face made my heart flutter like the first time we met.
And for the first time in a long time, I haven’t felt that way in what almost feels like forever.
I will continue speaking to you in silence because I am afraid for you to hear, but I wish for you to listen anyway. Can you hear the empty airwaves vibrating between us? There is an eternity existing between the winding path from my heart to your eardrums, because I know my words often get lost along the way. An infinity lays in the screeching questions that claw inside us at the dead of the night, choking our lungs and twisting our vocal cords until they can scream no more.
All I wanted was for you to hear my silent whispers, but you only respond to my screams with dead eyes and shut lips. So I whisper for you no longer. I claw and grasp for you in the darkness no longer.
We wove our story together with threads made of love and memories, forming a web around us that was so thick that we could not find our way back out. It was a world that consisted of just you and me, comfortably isolated from the rest of society. Nobody else could quite understand what we had, a…
one of my favorite professors pointed out how we totally misinterpret and misunderstand the true definition (and therefore meaning) of ‘resilience’. and so what is resilience? resilience is not simply stating that shit won’t hit the fan or ignoring that it can, rather it’s saying that shit has, is, and will always hit the fan, SO how can i effectively bounce back? resiliency is the art of the bounce back.
you see, resilience is two parts, though. it’s partially acknowledgement and partially assertion. you must first acknowledge that bad things are going to happen, prepare yourself for said bad things, and lastly assert yourself properly after all is said and done.
i’m afraid. i’m even more afraid to tell you what i’m afraid of. I’m afraid you’ll be afraid of me, once you know what i’m afraid of. they told me fear reminds us we’re alive. i’m afraid fear is what will kill me one day.
Identity is a state of mind, when you reach a place in life where you have a clear image of who you are and what your dreams aspirations and innermost thoughts are. However, it is very difficult to conjure a clear image of one self when one is bound by the shackles of prejudice. It is very difficult to have your own identity when your every single move, every single decision and thought is influenced by an outside factor, whether it be society, family or culture. Life decisions in my world usually are not made in hopes of achieving a lifelong dream but instead these are the decisions taken by careful prompting from the family whose ideas and beliefs come from the society around them and not from their inner self. This is a world where you must follow logic and stability and risk taking in hopes of achieving your dreams is highly not recommended.
when does a boy become a man? is it when he loses his virginity? perhaps it’s when he realizes the impossibility of this reality. is it when he sits on his corner and sells his first dime bag dollar? is it when he attends his first funeral? is it biological? when he adopts the physicality of adulthood. he stands tall thinking he’s now a man, all the betrayal and all the bullshit in his life shaping him into a cold unforgiving monster. there’s a moment in his life where he questions his existence. he meets her, the person that turns his resistance into jello and straightens his angled eyebrows. his eyes are no longer glazed and all he sees is her. the one that took him from his own personal hell, a world so unforgiving. one day this so-called thug will wake up with her next to her as he hears the footsteps of his children running to his room. when they’re old enough, he’ll explain the stories behind each of his tattoos and they’ll wonder. how could someone live through such an existence. he’ll reminisce the first funeral he went to, a classmate’s. he’ll remember growing up with his grandparents. he’ll try to forget his sometimes mother who would drop by once in a blue moon and as hard he’ll try he won’t remember his absent father. one by one he’ll tell the story of each and every scar and he’ll pray at night that none of his children will ever have to live a life like his.
There’s something to be said about a boy absorbed in a book. The way his eyes graze the pages, reminiscent of the way his fingers skip over the small curve of your back. The long, winding strokes he creates as he lovingly traces the spine of a hardcover, etching his existence into its vanilla-scented pages, like the perfume you wore on your first date. The way he falls in love with those fictional characters as if they were reflections of every aspect of your being, which he has carefully analyzed in order to uncover the mystery that is you, an adventure infinitely more exciting than any action-packed thriller novel. The tap-tap-tap of his fingers as he dissects the rhythm of poetry, scientifically analyzing the dynamic structure of the written word. And if you were to ask him which chapter was his favorite part, he’d tell you that he was so lost in journey that all he can remember are the breaths trapped in between loose-leaf pages, and inhales waiting to be read and rediscovered by the next one.
I love it that when she laughs her nose crinkles just a little. It’s adorable. Sometimes when she’s nervous she hops in place. I like that too. It’s probably why on our first date she wore flats instead of heels. ”Stilettos are overrated,” She says. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning with the sun yet to conquer the horizon, I find myself wondering if she too, has risen. Has she found comfort in her bed, or have her toes escaped the warmth of her body? I hope she’s wearing socks. I hope she feels the same way for it would be terrible if when the time comes, she were to have cold feet. I suppose its too early to worry about such a thing. However the notion around that idea itself is a fun thought. I can fill the mundane days at work just starring at an empty cubicle wall. Head rested on my fist. Thinking about the way she told me the lamest joke ever, in the most adorable way which made me clear my throat with a smile, and blush. I suppose that’s how I physically fell in love with her. Not so romantic, but I like telling the story.
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Love is surprising me with my favorite book so we can finally go on a coffeehouse date and read our favorite literature together, just as you would expect a pair of English-loving writers to do.
Love is cherishing me when I was infinitely unlovable and self-hatred seeped through my pores, threatening to engulf any remotely human trait remaining inside me.
Love is leaving love bites on his neck, because though it embarrasses him, the possessive territorial side of me wants the entire world to know he’s mine, and mine only.
Love is following me to Sephora and Victoria’s secret and standing by uncomfortably, but without a complaint, as I try on multiple lipsticks and sift through piles of bejeweled bras and lace thongs.
Love is falling asleep together in tangled sheets and waking up with tangled limbs, planting morning kisses on each other’s bare necks and shoulders and tracing constellations on the freckles on our backs.
Love is when I grumpily mumble in my sleep to get off me because its too hot, forcing him to spend the night alone before I finally allowed him to wrap his arms around my shivering body during sunrise.
Love is being able to give each other Eskimo kisses in public without feeling an inkling of embarrassment, because the entire external world vanishes when I’m next to him.
Love is the first time I feel completely secure with myself, because he makes me feel beautiful in the ugly shell of my body when he brushes the hair out of my face just so he can gaze into my eyes and to get a better view at the face I’ve learned to hate over the years as the result of mental dissections of my features in the mirror.
Love is continuing to support and listen to me even after our separation, because though he’s not obligated to treat me like his princess any longer, he still listens to me talk incoherently as I cry into the mouthpiece and clutch onto the stuffed dog he won for me.
Love is liking me for months prior to our relationship, because even as I talked about other boys and always put him as a last priority friend, he steadily remained by my side long before our friendship turned into romance. Love is never failing to pick up at 5 am to listen to me sobbing about my angry teenage problems over the speakerphone. Love is being the first to treat me like a woman, not a girl, and trying his best every single day to love me as if he were holding me in his arms instead of Skyping me from 3000 miles away.
Love is seeing me completely naked: taking in both the physical imperfections and the emotional scars, and still thinking I’m the most beautiful thing he’s laid his eyes on. Love is seeing all of my beauty during the good days, and all of my ugliness that erupted in the darkest hours of my life, and still cradling me with unconditional support and affection. Love is restoring my faith in humanity once again as I witness his kind, selfless acts towards everyone around him. Love is knowing he’s the type of person who comes around once in a lifetime, and for that, I’m endlessly grateful for everything he’s given me.
I sit here and wonder which way to go. Up, down, left, right what I want is to the left and down what everyone else wants me to do is to right and up if I choose what I want, I lose everyone if I go with what everyone wants…I lose my happiness so which way do I go? Up, down left, right? Someone please help me this is my life but I can’t lose them.
She told me she loved me. As I was counting down the seconds I had left until I moved halfway across the country away from her, she hugged me. Breathing in my scent, she told me she wanted to stay this way forever. I didn’t want to let her go. When time no longer permitted our arms to lock our bodies against one another, she carved a piece of my heart away with her. She stole a piece of me; I will never get it back. She told me that I would always be apart of her. That she would always be apart of me. I left her, without being able to tell her how much I loved her. That without her, I felt incomplete. We convinced ourselves that this distance wouldn’t change anything. That this wasn’t goodbye. That was the last time we spoke to each other. Both too busy living our own lives, we moved on. Holding onto promises that are now just empty words, we faded into memories of what once was. She still holds a piece of my heart, whether she still wants it or not. She doesn’t know that I’ve thought about her every day she’s been away from me. That I wake up and see a picture of us together every morning. That, despite the fact that nothing will ever be same now, I still feel empty without her. She will always a memory that simultaneously warms me up from the inside and tears me apart at the core. She is gone now, but she will always be apart of me, even when I am no longer apart of her. I wish I told her I loved her.
All the ticks, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared.
When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments.
Even in bed, I’m thinking:
Did I lock the doors? Yes. Did I wash my hands? Yes. Did I lock the doors? Yes. Did I wash my hands? Yes.
But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips.. Or the eyelash on her cheek— the eyelash on her cheek— the eyelash on her cheek.
I knew I had to talk to her.
I asked her out six times in thirty seconds.
She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going.
On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, or fucking talking to her.. But sheloved it.
She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times cause it was Wednesday
She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk.
When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely locked the door eighteen times.
I’d always watch her mouth when she talked— when she talked— when she talked— when she talked
when she talked;
when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges.
At night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off.. And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off. She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her.
Some mornings I’d start kissing her godbye but she’d just leave because I was making her late for work..
When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking..
When she said she loved me, her mouth was a straight line..
She told I was taking up too much of her time.
And last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place.
She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but..
How can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touch her?
Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t.
I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her.
Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin. I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars.. And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on.
I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel.. How she turns shower knobs like she opening a safe.
How she blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles— blows out—….
Now, I just think about who else is kissing her.
I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once—he doesn’t care if it’s perfect!
i’m an empty shell and there’s nothing beautiful about it. it’s always been this way, me against the world. i learned this too early and the concept raised me and shaped my mental development in such a way as to seem irreversible. yesterday i was today’s empty shell. sometimes i have a hard time deciding if this is reality, and then i realize my dreams are just as harsh and unforgiving. in case you might have misunderstood i’m not falling into some dark abyss filled with the fading souls of a thousand angsty teens. they metaphorically express my reality in the sense that they only think that they’re empty but, they usually don’t know true emptiness. the feeling of being surrounded by the facetious and the realization that slowly your heart stops rigid. until you start bleeding solitude and end up bleeding nothingness. everyday the green in the trees fade ever so slightly and the hue of the cherry blossoms vanish ever so subtly. but hold your thoughts before you try to make me feel better. there’s nothing worse than charity for those who don’t need it. a waste.
When my friend shared the news that Cory Monteith passed away from drugs, her boyfriend made a “stupid druggie” comment. He’s one of my best friends too and I know he condemns drug use, especially if you’re his friend. He’s taken a friend’s cigarette to put it out and he’s given deadly stares after encounters with weed.
Him along with several other people cannot see that drug use is not necessarily a choice. That’s why people relapse even though they have gone through rehab. They become victims to their desires. It’s unfortunate that there are people who cannot find their way out and then one really bad night can very well end their lives. It’s a given that the action itself shows carelessness, but when you’re in that state, you don’t know any better.
My prayers go out to all families who have been affected by drug use. I wish all those in rehab a successful recovery. I also hope that more people can be open to the idea that people want help, but it’s mentally difficult to advance.
i want to fall in love again. not because i’m chasing tail, but because there are things i miss doing as a couple. the thing i miss the most are those late night phone calls, where we would talk about our days and tell stories about funny things that happened to us. then as the night grew old, we would whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears. we wouldn’t hang up the phone until one of us fell asleep. if i closed my eyes and just let my imagination flow, i could almost feel her next to me every time she fell asleep before i did, and i could hear her heavy breathing in my ear. a heavenly choir could never match the rhythm, beauty and grace of even her unconscious breath. among all the silly things i’ve done as a couple that’s what I miss the most. the feeling of someone I can talk to whenever and the feeling of being loved and being in love.
Education, according to the Oxford Dictionary, is “the process of receiving or giving systematic instruction.” Considering the given definition, there exist two roles in the education system: the receiver and the distributor. It is the responsibility of teachers to distribute information to their students, the receivers, in as lucid a manner as possible; however, as receivers, it is the students’ responsibility to be receptive of what the teachers distribute. In an academic environment, cooperation is required between both parties for complete success to be achieved.
Based upon statistics and common knowledge, there are students who enjoy learning and there are students who need some sort of incentive to delve into the learning process. Because of this, it is up to the teachers to create an inviting educational environment, a place where the retention of knowledge and abstract thinking is encouraged and enjoyable. Alongside that, teachers must be open to the different manners in which students learn, so that every student has a fair opportunity to comprehend the teacher’s instruction. Once an encouraging environment has been established, the student has the responsibility to be receptive of the teacher’s material. If the open environment still is not sufficient encouragement for the student, then that student must become self-motivated. When I feel that the style in which the teacher delivers information is not compatible with my way of learning, I have to do what I can in order to understand the material. If that means independently studying at home, asking questions, or seeking tutoring, then I have to take that upon myself and do so.
When I find myself uninterested in a specific topic, I do my best to apply it to something that I am interested in so that I can not only stay focused, but actually understand the material. For instance, I initially did not understand the purpose of physics and analyzing free-fall acceleration until I applied it to breakdancing. I realized that an upward force has to be greater than the natural downward force of gravity in order to remain in the air for a given amount of time, causing me to look again into how I executed certain movements. The application of uninteresting information to interesting information amplifies one’s understanding of both, inherently making them more comprehensible.
One way to conquer an array of learning styles is through flexibility. Each participant in the education system has to be willing to accept a method that may be foreign to them, including the parents. The parents play an interesting role because they are not in the classroom with their students; they do not see the everyday classroom procedures. The parent/guardian’s responsibility, even outside of the realm of education, is simply to encourage the student. When the student is struggling with a specific topic, the parent should be there to let the child know that they are able to accomplish any task as long as they work toward it. Dually, it is the parent’s responsibility to discipline the student in a way that the teacher cannot. The parent is there when the teacher cannot be, and a good parent knows the student better than anyone else. Therefore, the parent must be sure that the student is staying on task and completing his or her work at home so that they can get the most out of their education, an education that parents are often paying for or taking out loans in their name for.
Ultimately, practice makes permanent. Motivation is the key to success in the education system, whether it comes from the teachers, the parents, or the students themselves. With motivation and diligence, many things can be accomplished, even getting accepted to one’s dream college.
Her tainted lips go with her swaying hips. She bats her eyes knowing she can’t miss. For once her gaze pierces, she convinces males to kiss. She tilts her head to show interest, but only to deceive. Cause another sucker is exactly what she needs. She puts her hand to stop, but only to proceed with her tongue inside his mouth. Such a sweet taste indeed.
She puts her arms around his waist to imitate a grade school dance. But she’s really setting him up for a bad romance. She puts her head to his chest and musters up a smile. Then s he politely asks, “Won’t you take me home? I’ve been standing here for a while.”
He leads her to his apartment. She strips to show attraction, but it’s a merely just a ploy to gain his satisfaction. She approaches on her knees and straddles with a pounce. She jumps up and down, her breasts join to bounce. Her left hand leads to his hair, while her right leads to her pair. As if to pledge allegiance, but she does not dare. They spend the night together, positions are always changed, still unaware that the woman was his bane.
He wakes up feeling woozy with the past night forgotten. His belongs are all gone, but who was it who robbed him?
Looking back on it, I find that I loved you when it was least convenient for me. I took a sacrifice without really knowing it. I had everything I could have wanted at the time. Sure, love is priceless, something that cannot be weighed upon a scale with anything else. But I had everything I could ever want and need: God, wisdom, understanding, great health, an exceptional GPA, talent, and even money. I gave a lot of that up for you, but I did not notice it at the time.
So the question stands: was it worth it? Granted, it was a good love overall. It was genuine. There was a tangible care for one another. We opened up to one another in uncomfortable ways, and that was what made that short amount of time strong. I ran as fast as I could to see you for a few minutes and beat my PR for one mile. I still cannot find motivation strong enough to make me run that fast again. Four minutes, fifty-six seconds. That is definitely something I look at and think, “the tangibility of love.” You inspired some of the best poetry and prose I have ever written. With you, I was no longer afraid to say corny things because I was no longer afraid of what others would think. In my world, there was only one fact: your opinion. Thankfully, at the time, your opinion was that God existed and that Christ died for our sins, because I never would have been able to wrap my head around anything else.
What came of this strong yet short bond is something that I am sure we both carry with us on a daily basis. It is something we cannot get rid of. It is something that we may grow to hate, but something that we can be glad to have. What I am talking about is experience, and from experience comes stories. Our experiences have inspired many stories, and I could not be happier to have had these experiences with you because through the stories that I write, I know I can help people change for the better, so they do not repeat our same mistakes.
So, was it worth it? With priceless things such as love and experience weighed against material things such as health, money, and a GPA, I would very much so say that it was. It was worth it.
i’ve seen the way you look at others, how you loathe the existence of every single human being you encounter. you see people for who they really are underneath the facades of geniality. most of the time you are unable to hide such strong negative feelings inside yourself and at times, it seems as though you explode with a general anger towards the world. it’s you against the world, the fake, judgmental and vain personalities make you physically sick. you weren’t always this way, you used to be free-spirited and loving. you used to show us all the colors of the universe in your sparkling eyes. oh and your voice, the way it would ring and chime like the manifestation of clarity. you used to have this aura about you, a kind of shine, an almost indefatigable cheer that seemed too bright to look at directly. it was something about you, a quality that just could not be captured within a single frame or verse. and then, you fell in love with me and now you’ve become a distant and scornful person. it’s a pity, to have someone that hates the world fall in love with you.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt once said, “there is nothing to fear but fear itself.” Why did he say this? He said this because a lot of variables that contributed to the cause of the Great Depression were due to fear. In fear of us not having enough money, we printed more money but ended up decreasing the value of every dollar we printed and every dollar in existence beforehand. When one sees gas prices going up, one goes out to buy gas quickly because we assume that it will be higher by tomorrow. Everyone goes out and buys gas. But because we now have less gas, the supply goes down, which means the value and demand of gas goes down, inherently raising the gas prices. Our reaction to fear is what fulfills that which we feared in the first place.
During the great Depression, the Austrian government froze their bank accounts, meaning no one could deposit or withdraw money from their accounts until further notice. This brought fear to Germans. They feared that the German banks might do the same thing, so everyone requested to pull their money out. But we all know that banks don’t keep all of the money at the banks. That would be virtually impossible. The money circulates because of investment, and that’s how banks get their money. So when people all at once try to pull their money out of banks, banks lose their leverage and have to borrow money from other banks, and then banks end up failing. Now the entire economy is messed up.
There is no evidence that such fears were founded upon. Reactions to problems that never existed and predictions of the future are what create problems and fulfill fears.
“for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.” - 2 Timothy 1:7 (ESV)
Gone are the days where we may idly sit by and watch the seasons as they pass. There is a change that speaks in the wind, and it will not wait for those squabbling amongst themselves. It is an ever rushing tide that threatens to consume all in its path. It is a beast of our creation, one that draws its strength from our divisions. Wearing many masks, it is the root of all crises and strife. We have build its foundations, its very legs from which it now stands upon issuing its wake of destruction. Who are we to be so foolish as to feed its insatiable desires, yet feed it we do. The great among us may see it for what it is, but we as a whole continue to see only what we wish of it. There will soon be a day where this creation of ours will grow beyond our meager control, and who then, will stop it’s wrath?
She only finds warmth beneath her covers, but that’s where the memories linger. Her fingers intertwined with his around her waist. His heartbeat invigorating her, giving life a sense of belonging. The moments of laughter while sharing childhood stories. The nights spent laying next to each other spilling their hearts out. Yet, it always ended in indifference. Nothing could ever make up for their different values. And that’s what bothered her. She never thought that she would have to change for the person she loved. At the same time, she never wanted his love to change.
My English is broken. Syllables and words like unfinished roads. I’ve been paving my way through hell just trying to communicate to one person. It just ends up in car crashes and accidents because there are no signs that say “Caution: You will not be able to read directions”. As if I wrote in a foreign language, but in reality I just find myself speechless. Because I’m trying to create a path for myself, but in the end I really want a path to meet you or see you again. Again, this could all be in my imagination. But, I truly care about you.
I had a dream once, but then I woke up, went back to sleep and had another one. This time I was in a tailored suit at a swanky restaurant. The kind of place with dim lights, live contemporary jazz, a bouquet, and a mini lamp on every table. I was accompanied by a familiar face but not one that I knew. I guess you could say I was on a date with a stranger that I had met before. She, in this long, red velvet dress, with these fancy matching gloves. You know the kind that are really thin and go up to their elbows. Her eyes brown and wide, cheeks round and full. The first time she smiled at me instinctively I looked away to subdue the flustering in my stomach. It was as if I was subconsciously forcing myself from falling in love with this stranger i had no business sharing a conversation with, let along a mini-lamp-lit dinner. Boasting she reads my mind, “Yah know, you really are missing out when you do that Andrew. Looking away when I smile and all.” I look at her and reply, “Indeed I am, along with the rest of the world. Again she smiles and again I am faced with a fortunate conundrum. “Ms., I really don’t know how I’ve mustered up the courage to ask you to such a place, nor can I fathom why a woman like you would ever be here with a schmuck like myself, however since we’re here, may I trouble you for a dance?” I propose. She then carefully picks a rose from the bouquet and clamps down on the stem, thorns and all in between her teeth behind her plush and perfectly red lips. Slowly she gets up and begins to walk away towards the dance floor. Her gait inviting, her curves never ending, her scent a trail of breadcrumbs for me to follow. And as any man on God’s green earth would have done, I followed. Down an unknown road I followed and when I finally arrived I clinched her hand as she curtsies. Though i did not know it at the time it was the first time that I had ever felt her touch. Instantly I froze like a poll and as if she had willed it to be so, she turns around in front of me grasps my hips from behind her, and ever so slowly slithers down my body in the most seductive way imaginable. The crowd whoaing as if it knew I were in trouble. The other dancers stop to stare, pointing and covering their mouths to whisper amongst themselves. Shortly there after I too came to be aware of the predicament as she turned around, eyes glued to mine, grabbed the rose, tosses it into the crowd, and what began as a smirk soon became a third smile addressed to me. I knew it right then and there. This had to be a dream and this person here could be nothing short of the woman of my dreams. “You almost had me.” I say to her. Now looking around and waving her hands towards the crowd she replies in a mock-mid-modern-midwestern accent, “Well I guess all of this might have been just a little too much mustard huh? Wouldn’t you say?” I chuckle. When I finish all is silent. The crowd vanishes and all that is left is her and I underneath a spotlight. “Well you can’t blame a girl for trying can ya’?” “No I suppose I can’t.” I reply. She leans over kisses me on the cheek and whispers in my ear, “Someday Andrew. Some…”. My feet kick, my arms wail, and I wake up. Angrily, face still half planted in a pillow I rummage around the nightstand feeling for the snooze button, agonizing for another five minutes of her time. In doing so, something obscure that I would usually overlook catches my eye. The breakfast plate from yesterday morning. It’s sprinkled with breadcrumbs. I get up, sit on the bed, and stare at it for quite sometime. Finally, after a long while I return the favor. I smile back.
1. Being a foodie does not mean that you watch the Food Network, reblog photos of recipes you will never cook, or use Instagram at fast food restaurants. Foodies usually eat at high end restaurants and indulge in highly exotic cuisine.
2. Any self-proclaimed title is meaningless. No one else felt the same about you enough to give you it.
3. If you were actually cute, then why do more guys wanna fuck you rather than date you?
4. If you wonder why people don’t favorite your Tweets, it’s because you have an ego. Who wants to feed it? Plus, you complain about the pettiest shit.
5. You will be single longer because you will only talk more shit when you’re dating someone.
6. You’re a creep. That’s why girls stay away from you.
7. When you’re the oldest person out of the group still getting wasted, you need a life.
Let me tell you now I’m embarrassed to be in my own skin. too scared just to be me Covering up scars that I won’t dare let light shine on again. these things define me or do I determine my self-worth? with the number on my scale I’ve never felt so lonely like no one will ever understand the feelings that haunt me daily that make my life a living nightmare.
I can’t remember the last time I got called beautiful. maybe from the guy I met at the party, who just wanted to have some fun. or from my ex boyfriend 4 years ago, the day before he left me without saying goodbye.
time flies and people change and I have changed too. grown into the person I am today. scared insecure cautious that’s me.
I hope someone will accept me one day with all my flaws.
No matter what challenges or tribulations life throws at you, no matter how down you feel, remember to still take joy from those little moments that happen everyday. Don’t let whatever it is that is tearing you apart and turning your world upside down blind you from those few moments of happiness you feel. Whether in the company of friends, lovers, strangers, teachers, there will always be something out there that can make you smile and let you forget about your troubles, even for just a few seconds. Happiness is a mood. It’s okay to feel happy, even in the darkest times of your life. It’s okay to enjoy yourself, to enjoy the moments you’re sharing, the memories you’re making. Just like its okay to feel sad. To cry. To breakdown. No one emotion should control your whole day. Keep your eyes open. Don’t be afraid, or feel guilty to smile, to laugh, to have fun. Even when everything else isn’t working out, even when the world is being cruel and unfair, you still can experience a moment of happiness. Sometimes you feel like pain has become such a huge part of your life that you expect it to always be there, but sometimes you’ll feel something strange, something unfamiliar. And in that moment maybe you’ll realize that you’re actually happy. Accept it. Embrace it. You never know how ephemeral that feeling is until it’s gone. Every day won’t be sunny, and when you find yourself lost in the darkness and despair, remember it’s only in the black of night you see the stars.
In a country where we are given freedom of speech, some females have dismissed males who complain as little bitches and pussies. And what I want to know is, why aren’t we given this freedom? Is it because we don’t have to deal with periods, childbirth, or the pressure to be thin?
Well, we males have our problems too. We may not face discrimination for top positions, but we face discrimination in jobs in which women are favored. Who wants a guy working at the front of a doctor’s office or the front of any office? And you know what, we don’t have that same pressure to be thin. However, female standards are on the rise. Being in shape wouldn’t hurt along with being funny. Are you smart? Do you have a talent? Are you sensitive to a woman’s needs? Do you have goals in life? Can you play an instrument or dance? Also, how tall are you? Whereas females can change their weight, men cannot change their height. We can’t get into college parties without ratio. Because the hosts are looking for pussy, not more bros. Finally, there are some of us that do get sexually assaulted.
In all of this, I want to question female’s logic. If you want free drinks, then expect the creeps. And if you want a guy who cares about you, don’t expect it to come from someone who has incessantly treated you like trash. Also, if you’re with a guy who’s sensitive towards you, then expect him to have the same nature. If you want to know why people don’t talk to you, then maybe it’s because you talk about people behind their backs. Last, if you want to know why you’re single and you complain about petty things, then they don’t want to know what you’re like in a relationship since your life is not stable as is.
There wasn’t a single Saturday that Will wasn’t doing work out on the front lawn. Sundays too. He never indulged himself in the technologies that the average teenager used every day, and his parents were always giving him shit to do, so the front lawn became his workplace. He was always tending to it, making sure everything looked orderly, that everything was watered evenly, and that the lawn was mowed. The grass was always green over on his side, and he made sure it stayed like that, even if it meant staying out in that hot sunlight that was just such a damn nuisance. The heat had never bothered him like it had bothered me. He bathed in the sunlight. He absorbed it like it was his fuel, and he would turn it into the work that kept the front lawn perfect. That land was his canvas, and it was an art to him.
He took pride in his work. When people asked his parents why the front of the house looked so good, they’d have to tell them that it was because of Will. It was the one thing he did, and he did it damn well. He wasn’t very good at anything else though. His grades had been slowly declining, while the distance between him and his family increasing. His social life grew slow, and eventually dead. He was getting in trouble at school, doing irresponsible things left and right. He tried to be productive but just never could do it. He constantly found himself lost amidst a stressful life, but he’d always return to the lawn, because it was the one thing he knew he could always do right.
I remember the summer that they sent Will away to his relatives in Nevada to finish off his last two years of high school. His mother was kind enough to tell me that it was because he wasn’t getting along with his dad. I really miss Will, and everyday I look out my window at the lawn across the street, as the grass grows yellower and the flowers grayer, and I am constantly reminded of the old friend I grew up with, that was just trying to put his life into something he cared for.