[x]

Phanerozoic lately i've had a certain thought stuck in my brain,
the thought of how easily i can change my fate.
retrospectives play and replay a silly habit embedded in me
like fossils rested in subsoil,
like little insects trapped in golden amber,
like gems cased in by stone:

i wait until its too late to open up.
by then, i've just learned to make myself comfortable.
i imagine how beautiful i could be if i opened up like gardenia.

i make promises to myself that things will be different next year,
that

To my Dearest Dearest Delilah,
Nights have gotten colder. The days are darker as the shrapnel draws nearer. Oh how I miss our days spent together. Do you recall the days at the beach? When the sun had rested perfectly over us, wrapping us in its warmth and light, as if our days would never be disgraced with gloom and darkness? I savor these memories as if they were still mine to cling to. But these memories are not mine anymore. They belong to the man who had waved a sorrowful goodbye to you on the boat that sailed him the farthest he has ever gone.
Now a new man rests in his place. He is frightened of the noises, of the cries and the echo of bullet shells piercing skulls and clanking to the floor as if they rained down endlessly. This man cannot think of anything else but his inevitable death as he runs through the fields of darkness, doing his best to survive and return to you, the woman who still knows the man he used to be. For the man you hold was ki

Fuck The Love Cap. 6 Vuelve Conmigo

- Al día siguiente, Cadence se levanta, con sueño… porque era Lunes D:< -

Cadence: Adfsga… lo bueno es que yo no voy a la escuela lalala (8) (??
Natasha: Cadence… estamos de vacaciones (?
Cadence: ¿Enserio? – Revisa el calendario – oh cierto (?
Natasha: Y Cadence… ehm… ¿salimos a tomar un café? C:
Cadence: Natasha… ¿Estás haciendo que me sienta mal de nuevo carajo?
Natasha: -Searching- uh… neh, que importa vístete (?
Cadence: ¿Para qué?
Natasha: Solo… tu cámbiate (?

- Cadence se cambia, y Natasha

To My Dearest-Letter 2 My beloved Thomas,
Each night I spend without you is engulfed in sorrow. This house that we had built together is empty. I am but a shell disturbing the peace and love that once shimmered greatly through the halls. I fear that out of sheer loneliness and agony that I will tear it away with my own frail hands. There is so much that I wanted to fill this house, so much laughter and kisses to shared.
Thomas, I love you so dearly and I regret ever letting you walk upon that dock. I heard how heavy and slow your footsteps were. I saw how small your back seemed then, how scared and sad you must have been. I know that war was never meant for you. You heart is too big for war. But I have faith, Thomas, that the large heart you carry with you will bring you home, back to me and the life we have yet to share together. I can only imagine the horrors you have seen. I wish I could enclose you in my arms, just as a guardian angel, shielding you from things of evi

Letter To OklahomaTo the teachers who gathered students in the halls, who drilled them months beforehand, who threw themselves over six crouched students under a ripped roof, who carried out children regardless of their battered blue face, who know that they started their career to make a difference, to not only teach, but to care, know there may not be many phone calls home in the months to come but there will still be a schoolyear.

To the daycare workers who, when the walls shook in the rooms where they sheltered themselves and the lives entrusted to them, continued to keep calm and sing for their sun, know that there is truth to your song and that you are

To Sparky Dear Sparky,

So the question herin, I suppose lies; "Why did I ask to listen to your heart?" I
don't suppose there's an easy answer to that question, no matter how trivial a
question it seems in my head. Hell, I'm not even sure where to start on answering
it. I guess I could say that the most basic answer to that is that on the
simplest level, I'm still lonely. I miss the feel of someone beside me; someone in
my arms; someone who doesn't think that the things I do are because I'm weird, but
instead actually appreciates me and likes me for whatever trivial things in which
they find interest in me. Before, when Alex used to co

My Libyan Civil War Neutral Note to School IdiotsDear

Just because I draw a picture of Gaddafi with a R.I.P doesn't mean I am Pro-Gaddafi! So Shut the F**K up, so you guys think I give a F**KING damn about the Libyan Civil War? Well no! Ever since the Libyan Civil War started I am completely neutral. And You can't force me to take sides okay? I'm not with the F**KING rebels or the Damn Government of Libya!?!!?

So stop giving me a S**tstorm on my view of Socialism! Just because I like that economic system you don't have to give me harsh comments on it. Yes I know Gaddafi comment several crimes against humanity but they is some parts of him which is positive!

Just because I draw a Memorial

el regreso de Ivana!!! [part-2]Todos en el karaoke… llegan Magda, Jenny y Miguel

Magdalena: que hacen aquí???

Yo: karaoke, ven a cantar con 1cirilo y yo

Magdalena: ok, pero que canción???

Yo: solo sigue las letras con el ritmo de la canción

La canción es: My Boy – BOUNO! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D-aT53dYI0o

Todos: Cadence, Cadence, Cadence

Cadence: ok, voy a cantar

Canción: Perfecta - Jesse y Joy http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eB1OziwHRyg

Se mira en el espejo, sin gustarle lo que encuentra
Ella quiere hacer notar
Que es más de lo que aparenta
Llena de inseguridad, tiene tanto para dar
Se a echo es

I Can't See TruthYou know those days? We all have ‘em. Those days when you are convinced by simple actions that people have a different view of you than what you were made to believe. I had one of those days today.
I person that I thought was a very good friend, ran a piece of paper across the front of my neck. I know, a simple action. I told him that it had hurt me, and he made a similar motion and slid it across his throat as well and disagreed with me. And I realized something. His life must really suck.
I usually don’t pay any attention to it, but at least once every day he talks about how it would be better if he just died and that if I did the same. I don’t understand. Maybe I make fun of him too much. Maybe I call him gay too much. Maybe he truly thinks his life would be better if either I didn’t exist of if he didn’t.
I tell him how there was no possible way to kill my “immortal soul”. And that if he killed himself, I would find a way to bring him

What, you love maths?!Tuesday, May 7
National Teacher Appreciation Day 2013

We all have teachers that we either love or hate. We have teachers that aggravate us and wish that we did not have to go to school, but at the same time, we have the teachers that put a warmth in our hearts and balance out the hate we have towards school. Although I did not publicly wish my maths teacher a happy teacher's day and I know that it is perhaps a tad bit late, this is my thank you letter.

To my maths teacher of three years,

Contrary to those that absolutely hate maths, I have actually always been quite neutral to the subject. I did not hate it, but neither did I love it. I wi

Letter.Des,
Let me get this straight, I'm bad at this. It's extremely hard for me to say any of my feelings to anyone, even verifying it to myself. But somehow, all the stress expressing my feelings like some love struck poet go away when I just think of you. Yeah. That's right. I like you. I've liked you for a long time. It's just I pushed that thought away thinking I'd have no chance with you. Well, I guess this is the right time to tell you how I really feel.
Let's start with my first impression on you. It was ninth grade; first week of band. We were getting to know everybody and stuff. I looked around the room and saw a bunch of people I didn't know. I was talking to some friends and they pointed out you. My first impression wasn't all that great. You had long hair back then, so you kind of looked funny. I was skeptical about you. I thought you wouldn't like me at all. You seemed like a decent guy, just not the one I'd ever be friends with. Ninth grade went by without us ever t

Three words that are sooooo trThree words that are sooooo true am sorry to say them but
It is
Derp derp derp sobsobsosnb :(::::::::

Wow I really need to ventMy mother is all bitchy and on a cleaning rampage, she's screaming at me because I forgot to wipe off the sink knobs and sweep. Well, I didn't really forget to sweep, I was just sitting outside on the porch steps to try and get some peace and quiet, and I was gonna come back inside and sweep as soon as I calmed down. Why was I trying to calm down you ask? Because, you know those people that are always smiling? Laughing? Cheering everyone up? Those people that will come up behind you and hug you and laugh when you scream because they scared the ever living shit out of you? Yeah, I have one of those friends. She seems like a pretty happy person

A letter from the past A letter from the past
Written by me exactly one year ago and answered by me in the present. Present me is in bold and is answering my past self’s questions

Dear future me,

How have I been?
Eh not bad, could be worse

I've been pretty good, 11th grade is almost over. I'm gonna miss me Senior Friends though...
You and me both, but we got over it

Whats it like being a senior?
Awesome, get the perks and the knowledge of knowing you're almost done!

Whats it like knowing high school is finally behind you?
Truthfully, a little scarey. Its all i've known for so many years its gonna be weird not going anymore

Did I ever catch t

till this heartyou kiss me
in the lamplight
and inch by inch
sow me anew,
in the ragged plains
that is this flesh
and with each brush
of lips, each whisper
you unearth me
and bury me again,
and find where i thought
myself to be most soiled
and where my skin is darkest,
you make sure, fifty times,
together,
we find sunlight

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A Happy Medium

by ~The-Authoress124, Dec 9, 2012, 3:38:50 PM
Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Letters

Dear Time,

Of all the places to drop me off with a wave and a smile, a distinct lack of directions, why here, why now? Was there something I was supposed to do? If so, I hope it was accomplished by somebody else, because I doubt I was the one to do it. Is there something I'm supposed to do yet? If so, will I have the chance or do I need to forge my own way?
Of all the times to drop me off, why here? A world free of pirate ships and privateers, where there are only a handful of kings and queens and the revolutions can no longer be romanticized, due to media coverage. Stark pictures of violence and blood. But also beautiful pictures of hope and the quest for freedom, signs in a language I can't understand.
Of all the places to drop me off, why here? I've been to Israel, I've been to London and Paris and Toronto. New York, San Francisco, Seattle, and Atlanta. So why here? Why did the ribbons of fate twist in the directions they did, across states and years and schools and companies?

From all the things I could have been, why am I what I am? Why am I a writer, not a mathematician or a scientist? Why do the numbers swirl like foreign shapes and make me tug my hair from my head, but words flow with the beauty and smoothness of a rippling river? Why does the sound of computer keys clicking away sound like a lullaby?
From all the things I could have been, why am I who I am? Why am I neither gay nor straight but a happy medium between the two, a sexuality often disregarded as a fantasy world, denial, or indecision? Why is there no one?
Why am I so painfully shy in any attempts to meet new people? Why is the thought of speaking so terrifying?

Why does my stomach so often feel like it's been ripped up the front with a long bladed knife and everything on the inside has spilled out? Why does it sometimes hurt so much that the only thing that can stop it is to tear at my skin with nails that I've often tried so hard to shorten and dull, but still, it goes on.
Why does dying come to mind too often? Far, far more often... Why do the only ones worth living for seem to be figments of my imagination?
Why is it so easy to plot the murder for a mystery novel?

Dear Time, why do we hate?

With love and distrust,
You know who.

A Happy Mediumby ~The-Authoress124

Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Letters

I'm a fucked up little twit.

_{_{But why should time care?}}

=realARTIZT Jan 12, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Wow. I have felt the same way about most topics in here, but mainly the question that swirls in my head is 'why am I so very different that I can't get over the very mindset that holds me back?'

It's nice to know I'm not the only one to feel perplexed by my own existence.

In short, this is an awesome letter to Time.

Welcome To #SayItHere!