art-seemsfun - Tumblr blog

[art-seemsfun]

Bruh why can’t you guys be nice to me I’m so fucking tired of dealing with all the Lowkey bullying. I had a really good day up until I started talking to you guys and you just had to fuck it up. I give you guys everything I can. I try so hard for you. And none of you appreciate it. Learned how to sculpt for you guys. But of course let’s all just send a big FUCK YOU to cal because obviously cal deserves it. What did I even do bro. How many times are you gonna tell me to end it before you realize what you’re doing to me? I just want to have fun with you guys and you always take the opportunity to bully the fuck out of me. You guys treat me like shit when we aren’t actually hanging out. Why does every message have to be about how much you don’t like me? Is it too much to ask? I just want to hang out with people who like me. I’m trying so hard to be a better person. I’m going to the gym and learning new skills so that you guys will like me better. But I think that you probably never will. I’ll always be the one you laugh at and not with. But I guess I can deal with it because you guys treat me better than most people. It feels like you don’t care about me the way I do about you guys. I don’t think I want to keep putting more into our friendships than you do. I made our friendship bracelets. I brought the slime. I made the animals. But you didn’t ask me to so I guess it doesn’t matter

[art-seemsfun]

I used to be really angry at my mom

Because she expected so much more from me

My brother got to screw up all the time

He was just finding his footing he didn't mean to act the way he did

Part of me understood but the other part was so frustrated that he'd get praise for not throwing a fit

I tried so hard to do what I was supposed to

I got good grades I read for fun I played sports I got awards I did everything I could

But my mom was so busy keeping him in check that she didn't notice me slipping up until It was too late

She asked me why I hadn't asked her for help

I told her that I had

But my brother was louder than me and she couldn't hear me over his screams

She'd thought he needed her more than I did

So I let my grades slip and I stopped playing sports

It wasn't like she'd notice either way

The nail in the coffin was when she told me that I was starting to sound just like my brother

She said we were so alike

My brother who used to leave bruises on my arms and holes in the wall

I stopped trying altogether because I saw no point

If my older brother needed her so badly then he could have her

[art-seemsfun]

When I was in middle school I was friends with a girl who had grown up in a really rough environment. She didn't go to my school so I only saw her in the summer. Her mom was an addict and her dad had run off to a farm somewhere. Being friends with her made me look at all the things I took for granted. Despite all the crazy shit that happened in my house, I never went to bed hungry or had to sleep in a hotel because I had nowhere else to go. At the time I wasn't really able to understand, the fact we had grown up so differently but eventually I did. Long after we had stopped being friends I could recognize my privilege. I still think about her to this day, about where she ended up. Whether she's okay or not. I think a part of me always will.

[art-seemsfun]

How I wish to be held in the warm embrace of my mother

before she learned that I made my own heat

to be sat in her lap as she read me my favorite story

before I could do it myself

To have her walk me to the gate on the first day of school

Before I learned to be embarrassed

To have her tie up my shoes each morning

before I learned to loop the laces

How I wish I could be young enough for her not to know

That I can warm myself up, read books all by myself

Or that I get embarrassed, and I tie my shoes without her help

Maybe if she never knew,

she'd hug me when I want her to

Read me books to help me sleep

Walk up to gate with me

And help me with my shoes

[art-seemsfun]

My brother and his girlfriend have always been the type to argue.

They've got a push-and-pull sort of relationship that leaves them both angry and in more love.

It wasn't a big deal, I was used to the yelling

It wasn't a big deal until my bother came to Mom and me, only asking one question

“ Why would she do this?”

His hands were shaking, his eyes red and unfocussed.

There was red all over the floor little dots of dried blood

I looked at the red tainting his new shoes, the ones he had shown me the day before

I looked at the stitches on his hand and I asked

“How could she do this?”

My brother and I never had much in common we fought a lot and disagreed on everything

But the thought that he could've died,

that he had been so close to meeting his end,

told me that none of it mattered

because at least he was alive

At least he is alive

He is alive

[art-seemsfun]

Inspiration is not worth my sanity.

[art-seemsfun]

I feel that the meaning of life is not solely the journey for the answer but also the living of it

[art-seemsfun]

Sometimes I ask the universe to give me what I want and it doesn't listen. So I get it for myself

[art-seemsfun]

When I was younger, my siblings and I would mark our heights on the kitchen doorframe with the year next to our names

After a while, we stopped

But it was nice to trace the lines and reread the names over

Part of me was sad to know I would never be that small again

It was a gentle reminder that I was growing up.

I was too grown up to even remember where my last mark was.

But one day Mom redid the kitchen and gave it a new coat

Without warning the names dates and lines were gone with a couple of swipes of a brush.

And I realized that I was too grown up to even remember where my last mark was

[art-seemsfun]

Love me, hurt me, find your way back to me

[art-seemsfun]

When I remember what it felt like to love you I can't help but wish I could do it all over again. Even after all you put me through part of me distantly believes that you're worth the pain of remembering.

[art-seemsfun]

The first time I ever thought to put pen to paper simply for my own pleasure, I felt something I had not before. A passion that I had yet to find elsewhere. I had no worries about whether my writing was good or well-written I was simply sparked with inspiration, left with no other choice than to create. When I was not writing I was thinking of what I might write next. As my passion grew so too did the need for improvement. I began to ask for critique. When my call was answered I was unable to go a sentence without wondering whether I could improve. I focused so much on what I wasn't doing right that I began to dread even the thought of writing. My Passion was lost.