#entry19

[dry-soliloquies]

I’m already skeptical as much as a person can be. That’s the reason why I don’t believe what other people say most of the time. Especially when it comes from the male population, and if it’s about love.

So, when you came and you had these big words with you armed with actions that were new to me, you could say that I was impressed. I was, truly. And a lot more that I slowly let you under my skin.

You laid these big feast of promises and painted a future of you and me that is something I could hope for. I was smiling and agreeing with you the whole time we were together because I was imagining it, too.

But going back, even though it really looked bad to doubt your feelings and interest with me, I was still unsure. I wasn’t eating at your hosted feast, I didn’t dip my brush in the canvass, and my hand was at the doorknob ready to slam it shut anytime.

You gave many speeches and told deep stories, and I knew at the back of my mind I shouldn’t believe in all of it.

But I was just a human, too. A human with a heart. With feelings I can’t control.

All I did was cry when I was proven that everything I thought was right. I cried because I was hoping and praying that God, please, let one of them be true. Even just one.

But tonight, as I listened to you say the words you’re talking to someone new, our chapter has already ended.

You have moved on.

And that’s one thing I should be doing, too.

[frankiescolorpics]

Brandon Woelfel -

This is a series of women in fields of flowers with various color palettes. 

https://www.brandonwoelfel.com/photography-1

[transpupa-blog]

My mother disowned me at the beginning of the week for calling out her attempt to justify her transphobia with racism and homophobia, by using her religion along with some other issues.

Just today, she sent a text with a crappy try at an apology. Sad thing about it is, I’m betting the only reason she did it was because she felt guilty with it being the birthday of my dead father. And honestly, I’m just not having it. You cannot just pretend you didn’t say all those terrible things about me, my girlfriend/her family, and a lot of people in this world. It’s too late. The damage is done.

You say you don’t want to see or hear from me again? I got you covered. You’re going to miss me when I’m gone and by the time you realize it, it will be too late.

[denlergoldbergwise]

chamber rehearsal

last monday, we rehearsed the lord bless you and keep you again. It was a bit of a challenge because the choir had already learned and performed it in canada so they weren’t as open to working on it so it was a bit talkative. besides that, i worked on the nitty gritty stuff and i really hope they remember that for next time. 

[palabrasycuestiones]

Los maestros de las letras

Me encanta ir al tipo de actividad que fui ayer, porque me doy cuenta de lo pequeña que soy. Me doy cuenta de cuan lejos estoy de ser como uno de los grandes maestros de las letras, de lo mucho que me falta por aprender. Me doy cuenta y bajo la cabeza. Me achico. Me doblego por respeto, por admiración, porque encuentro prudente bajarme de la nube en la que a veces me monto.

Siempre he dicho que la palabra “escritora” se escucha fuerte y grande, muy grande para mí ahora y en un futuro. Asi que, cuando preguntan, solo digo lo mucho que “me gustaría publicar un libro de mi autoría algún día”. A veces, también, evito utilizar la palabra “poesía” o “poema” para algunas cosas que escribo. ¿Por qué? Porque la mayoría de las veces mis versos son sencillos, son directos, no hay que sentarse a analizarlos por horas y por eso me da miedo que algunos quiten el término “poesía” de la descripción. Sin embargo, alguien hace poco me habló de la sensibilidad. Más allá de un análisis, escuché que la poesía, en su máxima escencia, es sentir. Eso hago. Siento y escribo, y trato de que los demás sientan conmigo a través de mis palabras.

Me encanta ir al tipo de actividad que fui ayer: En clave de poesía. Me resulta increíble cómo una persona puede tocar a tantas otras. En unos casos de generación en generación, en otros sus letras llegan hasta a extraños a la distancia. Veo el panorama. Eso es lo que quiero. Quiero llegar a otros, sea de esta manera o en un futuro libro lleno de versos; quiero compartir sentimientos y pensamientos. Quiero llegar a otros, y me achico. Me empequeñezco, porque para hablar de Matos Paoli o de Julia de Burgos, de Luis Palés Matos, Francisco Arriví o de Lloréns Torres, tengo que mirar hacia arriba. Tengo que reconocer lo minúsculo de mi conocimiento ante tanta gente grandiosa.

Siempre he dicho que la palabra “escritora” se escucha fuerte y grande, muy grande para mí ahora y en un futuro. Sería como tratar de hacer del mar una prenda para vestir; me quedaría enorme. Me perdería entre tanto azulejo y los hilos de las olas se me escaparían por entre los dedos. Me doy cuenta y bajo la cabeza. Admito mi sencillez. Me emblandezco, más de lo usual, por estima y por fascinación hacia los que ya han compartido sus versos, porque encuentro pertinente a veces sentarme a simplemente escuchar, aprender de sus voces y, en momentos, callar. Callar, hasta que realmente me toque hablar.

Cristina

[marys-wise-2016-blog]

Here is my first time lapse. it displays one kind of sfx I do which is strictly with paint. This normally takes me about 30 minutes, though when I first started doing this look, it took me about an hour. This type or makeup as well as other paint based ones are normally inspired by YouTube videos or pictures I find online. This makeup in particular is the first one I learned to do about 2 years ago.

[dancingpanda23]

When you’re at a sleepover and you wake up before the other person.

[hirasdiary]

entry 19

i love him i love him i love him

i hope he loves me