I love you.
love you always
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@siffascary
I love you.
love you always
I was going to tell you when i saw you next, only a week later. But i couldn't bring myself to. I didn't want you to think i wasn't serious. Now it's been months and i wish i had just told you. I don't know if i can tell you now. I don't know if i want to.
Parting of Sisters
Attached, in love, the sweet poison of who I used to be and why it still matters so much a badge of honor an identity to cling to shed skin that I can’t quite throw away look away I want you to see it the darkest parts of me and I don’t know why anymore. because I no longer need that sleeping girl in my heart. it’s hard to lay her down a funeral of sick pride I don’t want to forget her I cling, unable, unwanting. But I don’t want to give that part of me any fire anymore I want to turn my back on the face i sometimes see in the mirror On the way I still sometimes feel. As long as I can remember all I knew was suffering so I cling to those memories There were many years I took a sweet pride in my pain and I worked to make it worse I suppose I take everything I do seriously Where do our past selves go? I don’t want her to leave in spite or fear In death, the question is where? Is there a place she can go to, because I care for her still and I know that I am not her at all but somehow i need to accept that she is in fact still and always will be a part of me. Perhaps she has grown into me. She is simply the sapling now a magnificent tree I don’t have to deny a part of me to be who I am today to be who I want to grow into I made sure to create separate identities at 14 years old perhaps I still splinter at times. this is the sad parting of dear sisters i am losing that part of me the only part that I knew i am mourning the loss of pain it’s hard to know how live without fear it’s hard to learn to exist as a functional being for I am new, my skin is pink and fresh and everything is just a little rough on me and loud, cold but in a way that is like a newborn, not a jaded soul An animal with a fresh skeleton Perhaps I still splinter at times this is the parting of sisters
in times like these remember there is always magick remember how you felt her soft dark hair on your face and the love that lifted you outside of yourself and into a heaven within remember there is a safe place there is a dark and cool springs with faeries lit luminescent blue and the scent of decaying swamp trees and that this place is always a small leap away it might be hard but don’t be afraid to fall because she’s there and you are also there you have always been there with nails brittle and split and long lush ones that interfere but are so beautiful and make you so proud so you don’t mind the inconvenience. There are mostly sad songs on playlists and sad movies and things to remember a lot of people but please listen to the tunes that bring you up Listen to the ones that bring a light to your eyes and wake you up nice and easy in the morning like you always wish. You always pray to her for you to sleep well and wake early and easy You pray to lose weight You do complicated spells and rituals to lose weight and you promise and clench your teeth and and maybe things could be more simple. -- remember you have other faces and that you do things to help, big things oh you do so much for yourself and for so many others. remember being 7 years old and sitting alone and listening to music on a walkman and putting together a puzzle and for the 30 minutes that took figure out why that made me so happy You’re making yourself feel bad about things that you are doing but you can’t stop. but you can stop. You can wake up. When you’re down, remember what else is in your life pull yourself out of the riptide even if it’s only an eye out of the water with one eye, remember the times of joy. the times of purity. remember love and peace. You have all of this within you my love. You have so much more of that than anything sad. You’re not sad. You’re not You’re just alive, so breathe!
Hey Siffa, I hope you're still on your path/close to your spirituality. Will you make more videos about it soon? Love x
Yes! I had to take a break from YT but I've got a new video in the works based on a Buddhist retreat I went on over new years :)
Hey Siffa, how have you been lately? Sending you good thoughts. x
I've been alright, 2016 has treated me well. I still struggle a lot with anxiety and panic attacks still but I'm honestly feeling better than I have my whole life so I'm incredible grateful. Thanks:)))
Photo by @darkashter // Lilith Vanderstorme Sweater by Devilnight Synthetic dreads by IcyDreads
Model: Vanilla Syndrome
girl touches ground (draft)
Now she is sleeping does the moon say let go, let him in. She is restless in bed he is beside her they do not touch in sleep the ecosystem is maintained even in the dark and soft
He orbits her smile is it for me, is it a smile for only me? Is she sweeter than a Louisiana strawberry even with furrowed brows? He knows she is safe so he tells her all the time “you make me the happiest man in the world” and she frowns but smiles on the outside. Is he the one I am stuck with... is he the one I will never get the guts to break up with and have to lie to forever. The lie of my love. They are in bed, but not touching they touch in daylight but she shrivels from his warmth thinking of having a beer alone and going to bed early she contemplates leaving him on a daily basis there is some comfort his eyes are alright and he is stronger than average he tells me things and maybe he does care but I will never know So I stay for another day. And it turns into years but the fear is still there He still says things and I still wonder because they make me feel far away from my body. When he says those things about love, those sickly gooey words that afflict many others... I think I’d rather not be alone. I feel as if I orbit the earth and something is beneath but I will never touch the surface, the soft fur of a fawn. Being in love makes me feel so far away from any ounce of reality or self-identity. It is a science fiction novel, a fantasy story with an evil queen, a crooked prince and a wise dragon. And they all lose the gold at the end of the day. So what is left now? Well, I wake up before him as I always do, and he is always there. And when he’s still asleep he has a strange look about him. With his glasses off and his shirt off he seems like I could so easily tear him apart. And in the morning he is so quiet he does not touch me, he does not speak to me, and I stay with him. I dare to run my fingers through his soft hair. And part of me touches ground, a small wave rebounds upward and I forget to frown for a moment.
ecosystem of a girl (draft)
she is an ecosystem abundant with red apples, gold-flaked deer, and honey flavored snow. she’s never ready to settle down sleepy eyes or lie with one man alone She needs something always moving on unsteady feet but never falling too deeply in love. Men are all the same and I feel the same lack of affection and disorientation around each one of them that I become deeply attached to. The same fights occur in vibrant shades of a sick mustard yellow. but still, always, mom will say: He’s just such a nice guy. you. are. so. lucky. They’re all the same And so I endure these men so I can have a bit of comfort in the peace of mind that there is someone somewhere that I can hold and try not to cry because if I cried, he might ask why.
Lovely Asks
Lavender: Name something that relaxes you.
Polaroid: Post a picture that makes you feel good about yourself.
Vinyl: What is some of your favorite music?
Incense: List your three favorite scents.
Roots: How do you ground yourself or recharge?
Silk Sheets: Any ways you treat or spoil yourself?
Paintbrushes: Do you have a creative past-time?
Scars: Share something difficult you've been through.
Rainstorms: What helps you fall asleep?
Bones: Name one strength and one weakness.
Teacups: Favorite beverages?
Sealing Wax: Have you ever received a letter or written one to someone else?
Dragons: What makes you feel powerful, what breathes life into you?
Soup: Comfort food?
The Moon: What's your favorite thing to do at night?
Klosh: If you could go back to any three era's what would they be?
Lace: Your favorite things to wear?
Pocketwatch: If you could be immortal or have an extremely long life span what would you pick and why?
Honeybee: Name something positive you have done for yourself or someone else in the last two weeks.
Typewriter: If you had to come up with ten words to describe your life story so far, what would they be?
Blue Hair Dye: One thing you like about your appearance?
Felines: Something that makes you feel better after a hard day?
Poetry: If you have one, name a favorite book or poem.
Witchcraft & Depression: You are still magical.
So as I come down off a very long very low period of my depression, I realize this is a topic I’ve seen, but not covered in a way that gives you any consolation or usefulness when you’re depressed. I see “little rituals” and “how to do more with less energy” but rarely addressed is the “how to do anything with nothing” that comes with real, deep depression.
So when you’re in your depression, with offerings rotting in your ceremony bowls, candles burned down to nubs, your tarot deck missing, your supplies in disarray and decay, I want to tell you, you’re still magical.
Magic comes from different sources, the world around you, the deities you follow and deep within you. When you’re in a depression the magic within you often feels like it is deep beneath the bottom of dried up well, it may seem like your gods have forsaken you and you just can’t feel the hum of magic in the world around you. But do not worry, it has not gone away. The sun might shine just right one day, or you’ll feel an easing in your soul after a good cry, or one little thing goes just right, your gods might give you a sign. You are still magical, like a dry river bed before a week of rain, full of potential. It might take a long time, and you might ache in your soul for your magic to return; it will, in due time. Magic likes to rest, and gods may go to sleep, even the natural world lies dormant once in a while.
Your magic is not gone. Your gods will not abandon you. Magic has not left this world. Even when you cannot do anything but exist, You Are Still Magical.
reblogging this again
My cult party and Lolita closet
Healing Fairy Tale
There was once a young girl who liked to spy on her family. Once she was hiding behind the great bell and she heard Brother Lark talking to Sister True Practice about the blooming tulips. The snow was just melting and seeping to the bulbs beneath the frozen soil. She watched Sister True Practice motion with her robed arms, pointing from the cloudless sky to the new shoots of grass. The monk wore brown robes and the nun wore black and they both had shaved heads, but Jenny didn't know why. Jenny is a very curious girl but sometimes hesitates to ask questions, she would prefer to discover things on her own. That night at the evening meditation she asked Sister True Practice, “why is your head shaved?” And the nun kindly answered “we shave our heads because for women, the hair is the ultimate beauty. Woman spend so much time grooming and washing their hair. We want to be humble, and not focus on outer beauty. Therefore we shave our heads.” This perplexed Jenny, why did Jenny have hair? Is she too focused on outer beauty? She pulled her hair out of its tight ponytail and ran her fingers through it. It was long and dark, soft but tangled. It had dust from the earth in it. After evening meditation Jenny sat drinking a mug of tea in the dining hall. She thought about the same thing that she did every night. When would mom and dad come take her back. Jenny's memories of home are getting foggy these days, she has been living at the monastery for a long time now. She's not sure why she is here, but when her mom and dad come to visit once a month, her little brother cries every time. But she does like it at the monastery, the nuns and monks are very kind to her. Her thoughts are interrupted by the loud gong of the big bell. It is far away but she knows somewhere out there, a young nun is inviting the biggest bell to say goodnight to the sun. Jenny remembers that she is supposed to close her eyes and breathe quietly until it is over with. She does it even though she is alone and no one would catch her if she didn't follow the rules. There was once a young girl named Jenny that liked to spy on her family. She is behind a large sofa, in a large house, on a large piece of land with many groomed trees. Jenny wonders why they cut the branches off at the end of the winter. She wonders when they will cut off her branches. Dad just got home from his business trip, she hasn't seen him in weeks. But mom told her to go to bed because he's too worn out and will see her tomorrow after work if he can. Jenny is listening from behind the big couch. She can hear well but her parents are speaking in hushed voices so she picks up bits and pieces. “J- school says that… not many friends… playground… picking her lips a lot… refusing… to speak… refusing… food… obese… childhood… troubled… they want us to handle her, they can't do anything else.”
There are only two other children at the monastery. Ben is thirteen and Claire is twelve. But they haven't been here long and their parents call them on the phone every day to talk and visit once a week. They get letters and presents in the mail. When they brought Jenny here, mom and dad said that they were leaving her because the nuns and monks were going to make her a happy girl again. But she never felt especially sad. What she does remember though, is all of the crystal clear windows in her parent's house, and how they lined every room, and how the maid cleaned them every day, and sometimes she thinks about how Jenny shattered every single one of them with her small hands. She squeezes her fists tight and the scars pull and turn white, then when she relaxes her hands they turn dark again. Sister True Practice tells Jenny that there is a feeling inside of your body. She says that she used to feel it too before she became ordained. She laughs and says that it is sort of like feeling hungry, or the lump in your throat when you are going to cry, or the knots in your stomach when you are worried. Jenny is working on feeling inside of her body but all she feels is clouds and frozen soil. Jenny likes to watch Ben and Claire play soccer with the nuns and monks. They run and jump like rabbits. Ben always asks Jenny to play, but she prefers to play alone. But Ben always asks anyway, just in case she changes her mind. She enjoys playing chess with Ben though, but she suspects that sometimes he lets her win on purpose. They spend hours on the weekends playing chess, they talk about old television shows they used to watch and video games they used to play, and wonder what is happening on the new episodes. Sometimes they make up their own stories about what is happening on their favorite shows. Ben came to the monastery a month ago, during the Christmas retreat. Every Christmas the monastery invites the public to come and stay for a week to rest. The families of the nuns and monks are usually there as well, mostly their siblings, nieces, and nephews. They stay in special cabins at the monastery. Jenny remembers that among the hundred or so people that came to visit, Ben was there. He came with his family. His family loves him so much, they cried when they left him. Ben's older brother had hurt himself and died violently and then Ben was failing out of school. The nuns said that he could stay for a few weeks to rest and heal.
It is days before the spring equinox. Sister True Practice is sitting on a bench with Jenny, touching her hand lightly. “Your mother said they will not make it tomorrow Jenny, I'm so sorry.” Sister arches her neck down, to look Jenny in the eyes. Jenny looks away, at the tulips leading the pathway to the meditation hall. The pathway is made of cobblestones, it is lined with tulips as well as small lamp posts and statues of the Buddha. The meditation hall looms in the distance, it is a pale wooden building, like a cathedral. The ceilings are a hundred feet high and arched up to a point. There are beautiful windows lining each wall. The windows are cleaned by nuns every single day so they are spotless. They look out into the woods and the river that flow by with your thoughts. At the front of the hall is the altar. The altar is the most beautiful thing Jenny has ever seen. It's more pretty than when her mother used to braid her hair and place a fancy headpiece on for special occasions. The altar is made of marble, it is covered with dozens of orchids in purple, blue, and white. There are white candles, oranges, and sand that is scattered in mesmerizing patterns. Every morning and every night the family meets here to meditate and teach Dharma. A lot of it is confusing to Jenny, so they let her leave early to go play with her dolls. Jenny sleeps in a room with Sister True Practice, another young nun, and Claire. They share a room and they turn the lights out at nine o'clock sharp every night. And Jenny falls asleep as soon as the light vanishes. She has sweet dreams about riding horses and going to the beach, like she did before her brother was born. But she is not sad. She feels nothing inside of her body. She rubs the scars on her fists. The next night at dinner, Sister True Practice surprises Jenny with a vegan chocolate cake for her birthday. It has nine candles. Jenny is so happy, the whole monastery sings her happy birthday and she blows them out. Then they give her a present wrapped in shiny blue paper. Jenny takes the box hesitatingly, looking around the room and uncomfortable with the attention. She carefully opens the paper and opens the box and it is a whole play set of horses. It has a miniature stable and a stallion, a mare, and a colt. Suddenly Jenny feels nothing inside of her body. She is stuffed with cotton. She is a doll. She has long hair and clear skin and bright eyes and she is lean now since she has been at the monastery. It is all a sheet of paper when she pictures herself. A fragile sheet that could so easily be ripped and thrown away if anyone wanted to. Jenny is a sheet of paper. She puts down the horse set and picks up the shiny blue wrapping paper. She looks into the paper and sees a reflection of her face. There are no mirrors at the monastery. There is a mirror in her mind, in her breath. She hears the chime of the small bell. But she cannot close her eyes, she stops breathing. The whole room is silent as the bell graces the air. Everyone's eyes are closed with small smiles, and Jenny is all alone again. Their faces are not looking outside, they are looking within. Where are they. Why have the tulips bloomed but I have not seen my family. But she does not mind anymore. In this moment, with all eyes closed but hers, she whispers a thank you to every single nun and monk in the dining hall. She looks back into the shiny paper and is shocked to see a smile looking back at her. She picks up the horses and pets the mare's shiny plastic hair. Then she closes her eyes and breaths deep. Jenny feels a strange sensation. Her fists are burning. They are burning to the beat of her heart, to the rhythm of her breathing, to the chime of the small bell, to the whisper of the wind, to the breath of the monastery. Jenny feels something inside of her chest. She has no words other than warm, and, friend. Then she finds another word. Happy. A happy girl one day. That's what her mom said when she left her here. At the last chime of the small bell everyone opens their eyes. They look at Jenny and beam.
There was once a young nun named Sister Freely. She became ordained when she was only fourteen years old. She has bright eyes and straight, white, teeth and she loves to play soccer when the children come to visit. Sister Freely is sixteen years old and she feels the breath all around her. Her family is her sisters and brothers. The bell is her lover and the summer grass is her bed. She has a set of toy horses that she gave to a little boy who is staying here now. His family brought him here to rest. Sister Freely doesn't know how long he will be here. But she makes a point to speak to Caleb every day, and make him smile. Sister Freely does not want him to stay here forever, but she knows that some people need to. She knows that it was right for her to stay here. Where she can rest in stillness and feel the beating of her heart. The scars on her fists are silver now, but still raised. For a long time she covered then with gloves but now she lets them show. If anyone ever asks what they are she just says, “I had to feel my body.” Sister Freely is outside, with the big bell. The sun is setting and the evening meditation is over. She stands beside the bell, under the structure that holds it high in the air. The top of the bell is almost as high as the trees. The bell is made of metal and carved with symbols and painted gold and red. She chants ancient songs in Vietnamese. She takes the large mallet and invites the sound of the bell to kiss every inch of the monastery, every quiet sleepy ear and every blade of summer grass. There is a breeze that carries the vibrations to lands far away. She invites the sound of the bell and chants on and on until the sun is gone. She knows that Caleb will sleep soon, after playing with his horses and trucks. She knows, that somewhere her mom, dad, and brother can hear her song, and they would think of her and smile.
Go home Pepper you're drunk