i. I told my mother not to put any mirror inside my room, and with this, it made her frown, asking me “why?”, and all i did was smile flatly when i uttered the words “i don’t like them mom”, which made her look at me like a kid hiding a stolen cookie behind her back. I thought that conversation was finally over but after two weeks, i woke up with that thing standing beside my bed, facing the other side of the wall. I want to break it, but i don’t want any questions, so i hid it inside my closet with it’s back facing my closet door. I didn’t receive any questions and and i didn’t see any of my reflection. I feel great.

ii. This july, i’m too confused. About things. No one ever knew about this except my mind, my scratch of papers, and my old pen. I just feel of not sharing any of this. With anybody at all. But still i know i should. I drink 2 cups of black coffee every night because it’s july. And i don’t even know what’s the point of doing this. But around 7, i still ended up getting sleepy and by 9 o’clock, I’m already dreaming. And on mornings, i always overslept. Now i’m starting to doubt if drinking coffee really keeps you from being awake, because i feel that it’s a trick on disguise by pulling you away in a slower and deeper manner.

iii. I’m starting to drift away from everything i used to know, from everything i used to do and from everything i used to be. I’m starting to be different and i still don’t know if it’s a good or bad kind of different. I feel of having barricades from the people i used to know so well, that they too, are becoming different. And i’m still finding my way to properly put my fingers onto it. Because it seems we’re growing apart, away, away, without me and them really knowing it. And i ask myself, how could that be even possible.

iv. I’m wearing masks with different styles, and it depends with who i’m with. I’m being unstable. And i feel of becoming a faux. I feel of being deceive by some but mostly, i am the one who deceives them more. Maybe because i’m afraid of getting hurt that it’s better to be cautious. I don’t plan of hurting anyone, and that’s the reason i wear those masks.

v. My self-esteem is really low. My confidence, DEAD. And i’m still wondering if someone out there feels the same way as i do, because the idea of being alone with this kind of situation sucks. I sort of have an inferiority complex. I learned this one with the lady who’s about 11 years older than me. She told me the signs while i keep my mouth shut. She also told me that when she’s about my age, she also experiences it. Of feeling less, low and under. I’m not alone when she told me this, but i am now. Again.

vi. “You can do it” as she pats my back with a reassuring smile spreading widely across her face. Whoa. I thought of beautiful. “You can do it” and again, her words echo. I’m not really sure of what she really means. But maybe. Maybe I can do it.

i just don’t feel any of myself right now but still, i know it’s here A.G

I AM the girl who loves coffee and good music Who loves to read and paint and sit and enjoy. Who loves to be at peace, floating through life. Who you can find in a big sweatshirt and panties, Without a care in the world.

I AM the girl who likes to seem mysterious, Wears her sadness like an interesting pendant. Who writes sad poetry and novels. Who wears her leather jackets religiously, And can seem very dark and alluring.

I AM the girl who will kiss her lover’s face, With a treasuring, adoring affection, Who would do anything for those she loves. Who will sleep in his shirts and dream of his voice, Falls hopelessly in love with he who has won her heart.

I AM the girl who stays up all night, Dancing and singing, mind racing, speakers blaring, Creating and moving and going crazy. Who likes fashion and city life.

I AM the girl who dreams of the city, the future. Who wishes for art school and a tiny apartment, Shared with her closest friend and lover. Who would do anything to achieve this dream.

I AM the girl who thinks of death as the end, Not necessarily soon but eventually, She will end her life on her own terms. Who can sit in the car and suddenly hope, To be hit by an oncoming cat, to just be done.

I AM the girl who spends hours outside, Tanning in a bathing suit she would never wear in public, Wasting hours reading in the sun, Letting it’s rays kiss her skin like a lover.

I AM the girl who believes in a god Not necessarily uniformly, conforming with a religion, But a sort of agreement between me And some celestial being I believe exists,

I AM the girl who loves cigarettes and adventure, In the middle of the night, drunk on adrenaline. Who could be anywhere at anytime, Unaffected by her fears and concerns.

I AM the girl with a million crazy theories Whose mind sees the worlds wonders, Translated into color, each color fascinating. Who likes to analyze and figure out and solve the world.

I AM not a girl who can fit in a little box. I am different and I have many sides. I doubt you know each personally and I don’t expect you to, I just want you to love me for who I am,

And not for who you want me to be.

For the loved and the lost. (via dandelionsandshootingstars)

derangedstorms: Philippine literature has a new wave of books that quite interest the youth today: Wattpad fiction. Wattpad is a website that allows its visitors to read and write novels, and the said books — such as She is Dating the Gangster, Diary ng Panget and Break the Casanova’s Heart — were once published on the World Wide Web, before they rose to phenomal fame. But then, while they DID capture the hearts of many teenagers today, others disdainfully remarked that those books are insults to literature, particularly creative writing students and English majors. They claim that because of these books, Philippine literature is plunging into ultimate lows, what with the grammar, structure, style and not to mention, the content. The latter is not substantial enough, they say, and that the plots are overly repetitive: the underdog chances upon a bad boy, and unexpectedly, they turn out to be an item.

With that, those students would debate, the youth of today is now exposed to literature with no morals. Those books only explore shallow depths; teenage love and ONLY teenage love is the central focus here. That then makes them fear the effect on those books on teenagers: that they would grow up into brainwashed dimwits whose only goal in life is to score a boyfriend/girlfriend at such a wee age, and because of that, our generation wouldn’t progress much come the time we are all that’s left to run a nation.

This raises the question, then: What should the youth today read? Of course, one would say that teenagers of this day and age should read books that would develop their linguistic skills and shape their minds. That way, this generation would have the knowledge and intellect that would propel us to greatness, indeed. And with this, writers could write books that we could pride on internationally and level with the works of foriegn literature. This, again, brings us back to the question: What should the youth today read?

The answer, my dear friend, is not classics — definitely NOT classics, not yet.

Yes, they are great books, but they aren’t doing much, truth be told. This is the mistake the education system today is committing. They are imposing too much on the youth such difficult and great pieces of literature that they don’t do squat; they don’t at all. Nowadays, students are expected that they understand the works of Jose Rizal, Francisco Baltazar, William Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe, Jane Austen, Leo Tolstoy, Charles Dickens, Homer… They are amazing, no denying that, but in the eyes of students? Boring boring boring… What do they know and what do they care about corruption, greed, war, pride and revenge? Those were what concerned people of a different age. This is the 21st century already! They need books in which they could relate to, which speaks TO them. High school should require books that do exactly just that — books they could relate to and LEARN FROM as well. But what books could actually achieve such? Quality young adult novels on self identity and discovery, that is what. This is because it is in your teenage years that you begin to ponder with all intensity: who am I? What am I worth? What is the purpose of my life? Thus, we need literature with characters that ask the same things themselves — the readers then would embark on journeys of the pursuit of who you really are and they will root for the characters on the way — unbeknowst to them that, hey! I am learning! Cool! I love books! That would then create a bridge for them to explore and appreciate classics — it must be a step-by-step process of loving books — when their minds are now critical and open enough to maneuver those.

But what happens in a classroom setting? Students are made to analyze but not truly READ. Because of all this, they are conditioned to think that reading lengthy books with proper composition (not written this way, which Wattpad books would have! :p =)) OMG gwapo nya kyaaaaa..) is associated with studying (which they despise) Thus, they don’t read, and they are unaware of the fact that young adult books that aren’t difficult to read but are substantial AND entertaining are within reach. Since they don’t read books that ought to be devoured and seized up by people their age, they hurdle through their teenage years with confusion and doubts, thus, they divert their lives and seek out identity in a significant other, which, quite frankly, is the problem here: they are awashed in this delusion that love — and only love — could mend their need for happiness that they forget that your worth isn’t based on just that.

This is what the Wattpad books seemed to have augmented to.

When in reality, we don’t realize how literature — like media — could impact society in many ways that we could imagine.

But there is hope. There is always hope. The challenge here for grown-ups is to instill to the youth a love for books without compromising literary quality. This would then develop writers who could write literature with quality and substance, and of course, while capturing what the youth is all about… That is, more than just teenage love. People would then realize that at the end of the day, you are more than just that, and that you may fall in love and you may have your heart broken and shattered along the way, but you know within yourself that it isn’t what life is about because you have yourself, and you are in touch of who you truly are, which no one could never take away from you.


What’s sexy about saying, ‘I’m here with my boobs out and a short skirt, have a look at everything I’ve got?’ My idea of sexy is that less is more. The less you reveal the more people can wonder.
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What’s sexy about saying, ‘I’m here with my boobs out and a short skirt, have a look at everything I’ve got?’ My idea of sexy is that less is more. The less you reveal the more people can wonder.
Zoom Info

What’s sexy about saying, ‘I’m here with my boobs out and a short skirt, have a look at everything I’ve got?’ My idea of sexy is that less is more. The less you reveal the more people can wonder.

li0nsback:

imagine liking someone who:

  • wasn’t out of your league
  • wasn’t miles away
  • was single
  • actually liked you

woah imagine

sonder (noun): realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own - populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness - an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill crawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk

(via nostalgicjoy)

If people sat outside and looked at the stars each night, I bet they’d live a lot differently. When you look into infinity, you realize there are more important things than what people do all day.

(via opiunn)

Demons

\When the days are cold

And the cards all fold
And the saints we see
Are all made of gold

When your dreams all fail
And the ones we hail
Are the worst of all
And the blood’s run stale

I wanna hide the truth
I wanna shelter you
But with the beast inside
There’s nowhere we can hide

No matter what we breed
We still are made of greed
This is my kingdom come
This is my kingdom come

When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

At the curtains call
It’s the last of all
When the lights fade out
All the sinners crawl

So they dug your grave
And the masquerade
Will come calling out
At the mess you’ve made

Don’t wanna let you down
But I am, hell bound
Though this is all for you
Don’t wanna hide the truth

No matter what we breed
We still are made of greed
This is my kingdom come
This is my kingdom come

When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

They say it’s what you make
I say it’s up to fate
It’s woven in my soul
I need to let you go

Your eyes, they shine so bright
I wanna save that light
I can’t escape this now
Unless you show me how

When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

Don’t get too close
It’s light inside
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

I am standing on top of a 50-foot cliff. It is black and sparkling where the rocks have been left alone and vibrant and green where plants have forced their way through the jagged edges.

One glance beneath me and this is what I see: rocks like barbed wire. Rocks like the lip of a chainsaw. Rocks like if I don’t jump far enough, I will paint them with my blood.

If you know me, you know that I jumped. But if you’re wondering why, this was the movie playing on loop in my head in the moments before:

Scene 1: the phone call to my parents, my words stretching thin across the thousands of miles between us,

I can’t do this anymore, I’m sorry, I love you

Scene 2: myself, sitting on a park bench with a boy who sighs and says

you’re scared of everything

Scene 3: the secretary at the doctor’s office, glancing at my records and wincing

I’m very sorry for what you’re going through

Over and over.

And so, to quiet them I jump.

I somersault through the air and don’t land so much as I crash.

Stomach, legs, face- all in one neat line against the surface of the water.

The water, which is unforgiving. It does not make room for 20-year olds with death wishes.

There is a sharp stinging along my body, signaling the blood that will arrive shortly. There is the air being knocked out of my lungs and there is the question of if it will ever come back. There is the current pulling me under, swallowing me,

I open my mouth and scream into the silence. The ocean laughs, takes pity. Spits me out onto the rocks at the water’s edge.

Blood is trickling in streams down my stomach, my thighs, my arms. Bruises are already rising, vivid purple irises against my skin, the worst kind of garden. Tiny broken blood vessels pooling together, crying to each other as they shatter.

You must know in the second before I jumped, I didn’t see any of this coming but come it did and now my body looks like the sky at every hour of the day- purples and yellows, blues and reds, pinks and oranges.

A New England fall, my dad whistles when he sees me. Every color of the goddamn rainbow.

He says I lack self-preservation. My mother says I’m reckless. But I know the truth.

Look at that girl. You can almost see who she was before the hurricane inside her mind. Look. She isn’t afraid. Look at her jump.

Fortesa Latifi - tried to prove I wasn’t scared anymore and all I ended up with was cracked ribs (via madgirlf)