I miss you! Come back! :)
Hey matt! I haven’t been on this blog because i switched back! frugaldogpee’s my main, so that’s where I’m at.
How’ve you been, sweetie?

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I miss you! Come back! :)
Hey matt! I haven’t been on this blog because i switched back! frugaldogpee’s my main, so that’s where I’m at.
How’ve you been, sweetie?
I don`t even know what i`m doing anymore
She could hear the ticking time bomb as if someone had strapped it to her bones,
making fishing knots with the wires to her tongue,
rendering every survival instinct in her body numb.
Her mind cluttered.
Reality turned into a tunnel vision scene
out of a 60's film noir movie no one would ever bother to play on screen.
Fade to black, roll the credits.
She wakes up in a lonely world only to realize life's difficulty levels have been reset to be 10 times harder.
8 bit music builds in crescendo;
genius graphics;
her misery feels like a plot device in EA's latest creation.
Reaching out for Escape to check for controls, she learns it seems someone has pulled out the plug from the joystick that once felt like her own soul.
She looks down to her hands,
searching for the guns she's inclined to believe should've been provided to her from the get-go,
only to find sweaty palms and a knee-high stream of salt
flowing from the tears that bury her in the swamp of her mind.
Just like that, she wakes up.
Time after time, she feels those midnight terrors.
Each extremity of hers shaking out of balance.
Half aware of what just happened,
half convinced it must have been one too many snacks before bedtime.
She raises her hand to get across to her notebook
and scribble down the nightmare because someone once said monsters are less scary when drawn with words in a sheet of paper.
Her fingers barely gripping the pen, the pen scarcely scraping the surface,
she doodles some letters on the edges like a teenager in class no longer fighting to pay attention.
She dives into a limbo of unconsciousness but spins her totem to swish her away to awakeness
and stares at the characters screaming the truth from below as if her brain had just solved life's toughest equation.
It's not 42, but close enough to her eureka moment.
She produces her glasses out of thin air like a magician creating light from the reflection of his lenses.
No need for million-dollar effects produced in a basement thanks to the fact that chroma keying was invented.
Her monsters looking up at her, gaining stamina by the second.
Her eyes meeting theirs, challenging the beast to show its true face
until she shakes off the thin layer of sleepiness out of her eyes clogging her vision
keeping her from seeing the letters spelling out her own name
I grew up without a dad,
even though my father slept two bedrooms away from mine.
I was raised to keep my mouth sealed shut
and refrain from saying things aloud,
such as 'my father's words are written in the form of scars all across my arms'
for the time he held me with a tightening grip and threatening eyes,
yelling at me that if I ever tried something of that sort again,
he'd make damn sure that the job was done.
People keep asking me why would I write about that,
how can I say these things in front of a crowd?
My response has always been 'why not?'
They brought me up in a household were secrets had their own space to spend the night.
By the time I hit 9, I realized they weren't about to leave and they had their luggage scattered all across every room.
On the coffee table, on the kitchen counter.
Not even places that I considered sacred were saved,
I still find them sticking out from under my parent's linnen and my mother's night stand.
I grew up with the stinking smell of booze,
with the habit of checking if I sensed it in my father's breath every time he punched with his voice at night,
as if if I found it, I could use it as an excuse.
He didn't mean to say it, it was Whisky cause he'd had too many.
He didn't really think it, because lately he hasn't been thinking straight,
Alcohol filed a restraining order for Reason to keep its distance from his veins.
Society is keen on broadcasting every sinner's misdeed,
so why wouldn't I plaster every surface I can find with my testimony?
I don't care if it makes you feel weird.
I couldn't give less of a shit about how awkward you are when this kind of words depart from my mouth.
I've named every bruise he left on my heart.
If you look close, I can point you to November,
the mark that I get from the time he pushed me to vomiting every bit of food that was layed in front of me at the table.
And have you met April?
He takes his name because it was the time he said he couldn't say Happy Birthday to me cause his mind was somewhere else.
And there are plenty more.
I stare at them each time I take a shower.
I count the stories that I never wanted to be written on my skin.
I was raised to be a walking novel, such as everybody else.
You'll find my rough edges every time you turn my page.
They forced me to have a story,
and everytime you ask me why would I say these things aloud,
I will stand up as straight as I can and say back:
How could I not?
I'm a book that you judge by its cover.
You can tell the plot by looking at my spine.
I was given a PhD on keeping secrets and telling lies.
I threw it away the first night I had to take out the plastic bag stacking up empty wine bottles to the trash.
Catching up
Hi, people!
It's been almost eight months since I last posted a text I think, so i thought it was about god damn time.
a lot changed. i don't even know what to tell you anymore... i turned 22, i started working as a teacher, i'm in a committed relationship, i got a new dog, moved houses, my mom got cancer, my mom then died, and here i am.
a lot changed.
i'm writting a lot of spoken word poetry lately, i think that i may try and post a few of those poems here in a while. i'm just starting to use tumblr again so stay with me.
even tumblr changed, dude.
anyway
to all of you who are having a tough time at life, all i can say is "hang in there, it gets better"
and keep in mind that life's most annoying habit is that it usually gets worse before picking up.
i'm here if you want to talk :)
have a good day, folks!
I understand now
I was just thinking about this the other day
I got a whovian dog.
I just uttered the words "you'd make a cute zombie" to a guy and I'm dhwiofnewiufbewuifvbewiufew
I've been pretty away from this thing for a while now....
I started at my new job and things are looking up in my personal life, and I guess that even though I need to vent and talk to the internet when I'm down, it doesn't work the same way when I'm happy and excited and life is going good.
I just wanted to post this here to remind my future self that I was truly happy at this time of my life, and that for once in almost 8 years, I have no suicidal thoughts, and I've managed to keep my selfesteem in check. I no longer see every flaw when I look at myself in the mirror and that's progress and I want to leave that in writing so I remember that it's completely doable. It took me a longass time to get here, but I'm making the most of it.
So...
Yeah... Happy and alive and I still check your blogs and I'm on my dash everyday even though I don't message you much anymore. I must admit I come back home pretty tired and even typing seems like an unbearable task.
My offer's still standing: if you wanna talk about something that makes you blue, or talk about how happy you are or just talk about daily stuff, you're welcome to inbox me.
Mmmm, anything else?
My hair is purple once again and I love it :)
And I'm single, and I like the IT guy at my workplace, and I'm almost starting to date someone that I once really liked and went after for some time, and I'm also exchanging messages with this one guy that I've liked for like forever although that IS NOT a good idea because he has a gf but oh well... I've made my peace with it and I know it won't get any further than messages.
So, future-self, remember: 2013 started with a cold and you were sick as heck, but you weren't drunk, you weren't stoned, you didn't feel lonely and you feel great today.
Hello, old friends
There will always be people telling you things will be fine. Please, believe me, these are not lies.
Don't trust the idiots who say they understand; don't fall for the same old shit we've been sold a thousand times. But I kid you not, this time it's true:
It gets better, it only takes a bit longer than what you'd expect to.
I've dealt with it before. For 21 years it's been rotting my soul.
The same girl in the mirror, the same look on her face. The frown, the bags under her eyes: it never goes away.
But you do.
You can get away.
21 years and the lucky one is the twenty second. Things are looking up, and it seems it was just yesterday that I was looking from the bottom of the pit.
Twenty one years of the beaten down rutine. But the twenty second is different. This time I mean it.
I've turned my back to that old mirror, which is now covered in spiderwebs and dust. Life spat on my and I turned the other cheek, cause who am I to say that in a twenty year's time, I will love having had given up.
Twenty thirteen almost took a toll on me. Started broken up, alone and drunk, but I got on my feet.
I'm going back to where I started: with a notebook on my hand and a thousand unwritten words waiting to come out.
There will always be people telling you it will be fine.
Don't trust those who say that life gets easier,
but it does get fine.
This is not what the door’s for—slamming you up against, opening your legs with my knee. And it isn’t leaving, the thing I keep doing with my shoes still on, or in the car in the driveway in broad daylight after waving goodbye to your neighbors again. But my body’s a bad dog, all dumb tongue and hunger, down on all fours again, tied up outside again, coming when called but then always refusing to stay. I know what I’m trying to say, but it isn’t talking, the thing that I do with my mouth to your ear, even though we got the orifices right. To leave I would have to put clothes on, and they’d have to fit better than all of this skin. To leave I would have to know where to begin: like this, pressed up against the half-open window? Like this, with my foot on the gas? If seeing is believing then why isn’t touching knowing for sure? I just want my nerves to do the work for me, I don’t want to have to decide. There’s blood in my hands for fight and blood in my legs for flight and nowhere a sign. Believe me, I’ll leave if you just let me touch you again for the last last time.
Ali Shapiro, I Keep Trying to Leave but the Sex Just Gets Better and Better (via internetsafety101)
w h o a
(via tommilsom)
Your life
will never be a photo-worthy moment after another all the time.
There will be times
when you want to give in
and would do anything to even get as close as dreaming about
wearing a smile.
Your life
will never be a hollywood picture,
where the grass is green,
and the sky is bright
and when it rains, a handsome stranger meets you in the corner
and in a New York minute asks you 'are you mine?'
Most chances are
if a stranger happens to walk by,
and even hint to that,
he will be a tall and creepy guy
who you wouldn't want to see when in comes the night.
When love goes wrong
The recrimination starts.
You say I never loved you to begin with,
I say I would've jumped had you asked.
And the 'I love you's turn to anger,
and quickly into hate,
and I'm hating having loved each and every one of your motherfucking cells.
The calendar shifts pages,
and you mourn the dates we once celebrated.
Anniversaries, first kisses,
every single one now turned to turning points both parties now dismisses.
The soft spots you discovered,
and the scars you once uncovered,
all tucked away into a cabinet filed under lost lovers.
We drew maps together on our skins.
We saw glimpses of what might've, could've, never will be.
The court date is set,
the papers signed and sealed,
the divorce is finalized, just a keepsake of the ending
to a story I never wanted to reveal.
Your friends, my friends;
50-50 on a deal none of us asked for but now are stuck with.
I've been seriously neglecting my tumblr.
I barely even check my dash lately and the few posts I put up, are about roleplaying.
Oh, sweet times when we had long one-sided conversations about sex and love, my sweet, sweet Tumblr.
The thing is, my love, both fronts are quite deserted right now. Nothing happening on either aspect. No love, no sex.
I'm giving abstinence a try till I find my next "one and only."
Sounds awful.