âI break silently because nobody listens anywayâ
Me
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I might as well burn in hell
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I always want to be there for people like they werenât for me.
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Pressure
Four hours too long then she held you tight
As you first opened your eyes
Eyes lined in silver, she whispered
"Great things are in store for you child.
You'll take the world by storm"
You didn't disappoint, love
You were rising from the crowd
"You're going to be great someday"
His eyes shone with pride
A happy kid was what you were
At five years old with glistening smile
You believed those words
Because isn't it not true?
People just don't put their faith in you
At twelve years old you started to doubt
Crumpled paper of false notion
Marked red with a single digit out of two
Void of feelings just for a second
Then back like it never happened
At fifteen things went kind of crazed
It was almost an end of a decade
But a start of a new age
A turning point for most lives
"You're going to be this soon"
They said to you one day
You're free to go but meant to stay
At nineteen, a few years later
You began to question, you began to wonder
"Did I make the right choice?"
You asked yourself way too many times
Truth was the choice was made for you
High expectations and judging minds
Most brutal mouths you'll ever find
Disappointment evident in their eyes
People push circle parts into square holes
Insisting, never asking
Constantly accusing
You learned the hard way
When you're placed on such a high pedestal
That you don't get praised
On the things you do right
Yet dissed on even for a spec of wrong
But you must go on
Live the life they had planned
Live the life as you were expected
Yet never coming close
To what you wanted
You never had a choice.
You never found your voice.
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Writing is an art. Writing hurts you. Writing makes you cry and keeps you up at night and makes you grit your teeth in frustration at not finding the right words. It makes you take mental note of words youâve never seen before in order to use them someday in your own stories. Writing is a passion that when a story takes you somewhere, thatâs all you wanna do, that the characters are the only people you wanna spend time with. Writing is hard. And people need to learn to appreciate that.
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Failure
I saw my failure in your eyes
Reflecting my own disappointments
Every word, every action is always a let down
Tried to stitch up, to patch up
Every single hole that you drilled
For all that I ever did
You put me down over and over again
You know whatâs the funny thing darling?
You canât really drag down further
Whatâs already on the rock bottom
Crashed and burned to the ground
Where tainted minds leave hearts tainted
Sugar sweet stuff and bitter cries
Filthy mouths sprouted filthy lies
And in this atrocious grave lies
Each shattered piece of me
Left to figure if you chose to ignore it
Or you simply donât care
But just because you canât see it
Doesnât mean it is not there
The uproar of the battle symphony in my head
Squelched by lingering stares
A labyrinth thatâs all in the mind
But the exit I cannot find
Living life on the edge
Life at the mercy of an edge
Of a blade sharpened by empty promises
Clock ticked one second at a time
Raising the white flag up to all possibilities
Of someone to carry the light
To illumine the unchanging night
A whispered plea of help echoed
Across the maze of unceasing melancholy
Desparation evident in every sound
Craving for someone to understand
My single ray of light is flickering off
No one answered for a moment
Deafening silence filled my thoughts
Then a little sound creeped
Slow and icy cold, almost inaudible
âBe what haunts you most
It was time to change
To a wandering ghostâ
Wide-eyed realizing the familiarity
The noise
No...
The voice
That once belonged to me
Trust me when I say I tried
To avoid but I canât hide
Away from the ugly side of the truth
Let it be, let it go with the current
Monsters are real and are my real friends
Cocooned by the hypnotic lull of somberness
Much time spent in darkness
And so darkness I became
Stars were to shine in the obscurity
Yet my skies are clouded eternally
Thunder struck and lightning flashed
The heavy rain reflected my heavy heart
Reverted to the crooked perspective
Back to where everything was rooted
As I stared into the figure in the mirror
Blaming the person that stood before me
Dereliction apparent, I cannot deny
Two heavy-lidded stygian orbs stared back
Reflecting my own disappointments
I saw my own failure in my eyes
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Dear NS,
Remember that night? I hate that it affected me more than how I had intended for it to. Odd that I have this weird feeling in the pit of my heart, little flutters on the base of my stomach when you cross my mind or even when I hear your name. I hate that you had to tell me. It got to me so bad. I hate that I lied. I lied about not regretting that night when you asked me. I do. I regret it so much. Whether or not you meant what you said or you just found it something to pass the time, to run away from your feelings and the existing problems attached to them. Something, anything that would excuse you from doing so, for feeling so. Until now I don't know. Maybe you were just hurt and vulnerable and I was just there, naïveté, willing listening to you. Unbeknownst to me that I would be in this position feeling all the turmoil inside of me. I hate being confused. I like to be in control, I mean I try my best to be but I cannot control my heart skipping a beat when I think of you and I hate how much that I do. I hate that I think about you all the freaking time. It makes me wonder if somewhere in the back of your mind, you are thinking of me too. Which I doubt. I hate how much I liked it when you held my hand that night as if it was the only think that kept you grounded, or when you placed your head on my shoulders because you were tired but you didn't want me to go and you didn't want to as well. Or when you swung your arms over me for a couple of times even when I wriggled out of you. You kept on wanting to hug me, I can tell from the way you moved. That one last one though, the one when your dad called you up but then you had to lie and said that we were still driving when in reality we were just outside your house. You told me you don't want me to leave and you just wanted to be with me. You asked for one hug. You held me ever so tightly but I didn't hug you back at first. I did it anyway. I succumbed into the temptation. You asked me if I could hug back tighter and I did. I stupidly did and you placed your lips on the top of my head, softly planting a kiss. My head just in line where your heartbeat was. Was it just me or was it hammering against your chest? I pulled away though, because it was unfair and not right. If only we were someone else it would have been so magical, it was surreal. How could you, a golden boy, be wanting this, wanting me? That was just one night but it felt like forever to me. I was just about to leave but you slowly leaned into me and this time I made an effort to push you away. Everything flashed into my mind. I remembered who you are, who I am, what we were and where we both stand. This was not a fairytale, not even a story that would have a happy ending. I hate myself for allowing you to have this power over me. You don't even know, but maybe you do. I hate that everything is so wrong but it felt right with you at that moment. We know how we were both in a shitty disposition at that time. It was a moment of weakness. You with her and me with him. And we both know quite well what we had gotten ourselves into, what I had gotten myself into. I probably lured you in with how I acted unconsciously and you took it in a way, but in reality it was me who took the bait. I hate that all it took was one night to screw it up. To screw me up. I hate that you said that it was two weeks in the making. I hate how you told me that I was one of the reasons why you came early to practice. I hate how you lied that you didn't know what to wear for the dress rehearsals even though somebody had already told you. You said it was an excuse for you to talk to me. I hate how you outright told me that you wanted me, not love but you did have feelings for me. I hate how easy for you to tell me about what you felt. I sometimes question if it was really true. I hate that I have screenshots of your messages to fossilize the time when we were talking, how short it was, so that I could keep it forever. It is not forever. I get that. I hate the feeling of letting you go when you weren't even mine. I hate that you left without a word. I hate that now I have to lie that I don't have feelings for you, because would it have mattered if I told you? Would you have changed your mind? But was I right? Was whatever we had right? If that really counts as something which I doubt it is. It wasn't. That's why it got to me so bad. How much I almost wanted to say it back and admit that it had affected me in ways that you said you were, too. But IT DOESN'T MATTER. It Doesn't Fucking Matter. It doesn't matter to you so why should it matter to me, right? Who was I, at the end of all this? I don't even have the right to feel this way. After all I'm just the girl who temporarily took your pain away in the moments that you were hurting. I'm just the girl you met on the play and had the heart to tell you to go follow your dreams when she was holding you back. Yet you love her despite that. I applaud you for that. It is clear as day to me that I won't even be remotely close to the list that mattered to you. I know you wouldn't have changed your mind. I hate feeling the heaviness settle in my heart because of guilt. My conscience keeps on reminding me how wrong this was, how brutally unjust it is to feel this way while I love another. I hate how at this time, I have to constantly remind myself that you love her and I love him when I try to think of the possibility of us. This is just not right. I hate how hypocritical I feel for saying that you just assumed that I liked you, but look how the tides have turned. Now look who stupidly assumed. I hate that I did, but I didn't know what to even expect with it. I hate now that I have to avoid you because of the shame that I feel because of how I feel about you in secret, lurking. But thank the heavens I don't really see you much. And I won't look for you, don't worry. What happened today was a total joke on me played by fate. You weren't supposed to be where I was. I wasn't supposed to hide in the corner in order to avoid you (how freaking embarrassing). I pray that it won't happen again. I hate that I know you're not really worth thinking about. Yet look at me writing this in all hopes to forget this feeling, forget the memory and forget you. I promise you, you're not worth it for me, not even half. At least that's how I hope it should be. I hate that I hope you are happy where you are. And I hated it more that I hope I was a help to make her realize how lucky you both are to have each other, how lucky she is to have you. How lucky I am to have him. Maybe after all this, I was just a bit thrown off, just as you are confused, were confused. You admitted it to me. Words are just words though. And other than that night, those words that took form of our exchange in messages, are all I have. I hate thinking about how I have to delete them someday because I am stupid thinking they are something of value. But trust me, I will, watch me. And watch me move on from this temporary feeling, this infatuation. I hate that I even have to. It was just a mistake, a glitch in our emotions, an open wound. It was never meant to be but just a lesson never to be too vulnerable. I may even hate you, for putting me to this position. Yet I think I like you just a little and enough for me to write this. I had poured out everything on to this letter to get all the feelings of my chest and it worked. And this is me saying good bye, even though you won't ever get to read this. So goodbye to this infatuated feeling and goodbye to you, even though you didn't even say goodbye to me. :)
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My life
When youâre trying to get your friend to read your favourite book like⊠#books #reading #throneofglass
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How We Feel When: People decide not to read a YA book because itâs too âpopularâ.
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When someone starts talking about the book you are right in the middle of...
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