#i know it isnt poetry

[foolishfern]

I wrote this on my break at work.

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[andstuffsketches]

a selection of robins

[shitty-proendo-blackout-posts]

endos are systems.

you are cool. YOU. ARE. A. SYSTEM.

#endo safe <3

[nerves-nebula]

BEEP BEEP here's my color class final! It's called MEAT and it's a short poem i wrote like. yesterday.

under the cut is the photo i picked all the colors here from (it's a pile of raw meat)

[carnivalls]

.

See the thing is. I know I'm good at writing. Like I have my weak areas or things I need to improve in, but it's not a skill I otherwise spend a lot of time feeling insecure about because a) if I don't believe in my writing literally who will b) if I want to publish my writing I ought to at least feel a resting level of good about it because editors and agents likely will not be cradling my face like a prize cat and telling me how talented I am while asking for their edits c) I've always had an audience for my writing even at its worst– I started sharing my original works online when I was around 16 & that really helped sell to me the idea of 'there will always be someone out there who likes what you do' d) untalented men never think this hard about the quality of their works and they always end up published anyway and e) I don't have many other thoroughly developed skills so why not have one I feel good about. Having said this. Awkward feeling to realize you're one of the authorial weak links in your postgraduate creative writing degree's social circle

[always-a-joyful-note]

Low quality and low effort explanation of my feelings about the two recent song releases

[genekies]

tag vent

[under-your-floorboards]

Okay, sure, all of the knights of the round table after Arthur and Merlin get their shit together and finally court being like “yeah, we knew” is funny because none of them thought to tell them what they all saw, BUT

I present to you, all of them being literally so thrown off by this new development that really isn’t so new. Because they see Arthur and Merlin together all the time, sure, but only while they’re with them. They don’t see the private moments we do, or the carefully intimate conversations in the night when they’re alone in Arthur’s chambers. They don’t see Merlin smoothing out Arthur’s collar after dressing him when he doesn’t need to. They don’t see the domesticity when Merlin is polishing armour by the fire in Arthur’s chambers and Arthur is reading updates from the lower town nearby in total silence. Etc etc

Because let’s be real, all of the knights would die for Arthur or each other, that’s what being a knight is all about, so they figured that Merlin wasn’t any exception. They don’t truly realise the lengths he truly has gone for Arthur.

Leon has been around since the day these two literally MET. Merlin nearly commit regicide his second day and then saved Arthur from the sorceress by the third. Gwaine loves how Merlin doesn’t fall into line with hierarchy roles but can begrudgingly see why he’s so loyal to Arthur, cause he has his moments. Lance respects and admires Arthur a lot, especially after knighting him, which has always been his dream, and knows of the prophecy from Merlin as his one (1!!) in-the-know friend, so he suspects it’s just that. Elyan knows his sister is in love with Arthur, half of Camelot’s court ladies are for Gods sake, but she and Merlin act extremely different around Arthur, Merlin being so much more comfortable around him than Gwen, so he thinks it’s more of a brotherhood like the knights bond. Percy is a bit more perceptive of this, especially considering both Merlin and Arthur never really fall in love with anyone else around them the entire time, they’ve never seen Merlin in love period since they never met Freya, and Arthur had courted before but most of it was arranged or a product of his duty to the throne.

So when they’re like “lol guess who’s finally together” all of the Knights are collectively losing their minds, and replaying everything they’ve ever known about them in their minds since they met.

THAT is comedy

[liuisi]

what is it about becoming an academic that makes you like bad poetry

[grief-worn]

@chaoticbard sent [ aloud ] for a bit of midnight reading!

"Augh, this poetry is daft." It's disgust she expresses, but there's a goofy smile cracked over her mouth, tickled and almost carefree. "Where did you say you found this? The back pocket of one of the goblins?"

They are carefully written confessions, declarations of love given form through the words of a barely literate secret admirer; one of the little greens imps, harboring a crush on a recipient unnamed, though they must have a fondness for spiders.

"I think I could write better prose in my sleep. They might have better luck wetting their whistle if they stuck to flowers and chocolate, not this backwash." Shadowheart swayed, a few goblets deep in a filched bottle of wine. Not good wine, mind you, but dry enough to have her seeing stars.

She leans closer to Alaara, the edge of her arm brushing the other's, as prying eyes scan the scrawls on yellowed paper.

"Is poetry really the best way to find love these days? Seems old-fashioned to me."

[maxiwaxipads]

Tuxam Who Visits Bad Badtz-Maru Kingdom!

Badobarm - “Hahah!—When I read your letter, I couldn’t believe the contents and thought someone wrote in your name.” Badobarm - “‘Course. I had to see for myself.” “So, you’re having trouble and need my help?” Tuxam - “D—Don’t speak loudly! You’re the first person I thought could help me.” “I find you sensible, and those skills might have helped me!” Badobarm - “I see. I see.” “So you can’t relax at all?” Tuxam - “M…Mhm.” Badobarm - “Then spend time with me, Tuxam.” “Let’s find something to do.” Tuxam - “J…Just like that?” “No planning at all?” Badobarm - “First lesson, Tuxam.” “Sometimes the unexpected is equally good as the expected.” Badobarm - “Now, let’s go—shall we?” Tuxam - “Y…Yes!” [Extra 1] - “Heading out for the day, Badobarm?” Badobarm - “You bet I am.” [Extra 2] - “A friend of yours?—Please, have fun around the kingdom!” Badobarm - “Yes. We’ll do.” Tuxam - “(It’s almost impressive how happy everyone here is… I haven’t even seen a single frown.)” Badobarm - “Now… What should we start with today…?” “You hungry, Tuxam? To neglect food is to neglect yourself.” Tuxam - “No, I already ate—” (stomach rumbles) Badobarm - “Then that’s that. Let’s find somewhere to eat!” Badobarm - “Anything in mind? Want me to pick?” Tuxam - “I trust in your judgment, Badobarm—let’s go whichever seems best.” Badobarm - “Got it. Got it. Anything I have in mind—Ah! I got it.” “You’re going to love this place.” Badobarm - “Lesson number two. Good food is also good fun.” Tuxam - “…Good food is—good fun.” Badobarm - “Oi, Tuxam.” Tuxam - “Yes?” Badobarm - “Having fun means having fun in the moment, so you don’t always have to write what I’m saying down.” Badobarm - “But you’re earnest, Tuxam—And I find that admirable.” Tuxam - “W—Where is this coming from…!?” “You don’t need to compliment me.” Badobarm - “Then write this down as well—compliments are also something fun to receive.” Tuxam - “Badobarm… There’s something I’m confused about…” Badobarm - “?” Tuxam - “Isn’t this definition of fun… Too broad?” Badobarm - “Broad?” “That’s exactly what it means to have fun.” Tuxam - “Fun…” Badobarm - “Relax. Don’t think about it too much.” “Fun is anything that makes you smile.”

(Walking into a dark alleyway, where even the walls touch both shoulders)  (Graffiti covers the wall, but the trash is surprisingly tidy and organized minus a puddle of mud or glass bottles by the side) (A weak light blinks to reveal a door)

Badobarm - “We’re here now.” Tuxam - “…” Tuxam - “Doesn’t it look a little… Shady?” Badobarm - “Everything looks shady here in Bad Badtz-Maru Kingdom.” “But—Don’t just a book by it’s cover, right?” Tuxam - “Got it.” Badobarm - “Oh.” “Let me do the talking though. Keep your head down. Don’t make eye contact, and don’t look around until I say we’re there.” Tuxam - “…Is this really a restaurant?” Badobarm - “Eh. Sorta.” “…Partially?” Tuxam - “…Badobarm.” “Is it really safe?” Badobarm - “Of course it is.” “I wouldn’t take you somewhere dangerous, now—would I?”

(A plain white door smudged with a few scratches and unknown stains) (Somewhat elevated by two-stairs)  (The light blinks a few times)

Badobarm - “Could you stay right here? I’ll be back, it won’t take too long.”

(Badobarm enters, leaving the door partially closed) (Tuxam overhears racket and a few exchanged words) (A loud pang…!)

Tuxam - “Badobarm, are you—” Badobarm - “Don’t worry about it! I’m coming right now.” (Badobarm who arrives with a cartoonish head bump) Badobarm - “I’m back, Tuxam.” “Hold my hand. We’ll be climbing a fleet of stairs.” Tuxam - “…If you say so.”

(Entering a building, Tuxam looks down—a clean floor that’s kept tidy)

Badobarm - “I’ll walk slowly.”

(Climbing up a fleet of stairs)

Badobarm - “You’re free to look around.”

(Lightbulbs light the dim corners of the room, but morning from the outside overwhelmingly pours) (There are empty tables and chairs) (It’s clean but lacks decoration) (They sit by a table with a window view)

Tuxam - “…I have to ask, Badobarm. Am I allowed to know where we are?” Badobarm - “The 2nd floor of a barber shop.” “We entered through a staff-only exit.” Tuxam - “The view here—it’s quite nice.” (Blueness above—making a drab building glazed with opulence. Rooftops akin to stepping stones that helped in tracing the skies and followed the alignment of clouds.) (Nonchalance became a spectacle, as thousands swayed to the melodic chimes of everyday life.) (I couldn't indent...) Badobarm - “I know right?” “The owner is a little eccentric—but if you look past that, the food here is great.” […] - “Who are you calling eccentric?” […] - “Betrayer. Scoundrel. Fool. Arrogant.” “You came here out of your volition just to bother me. Wow~ What a bully.”

(It’s a person wearing a blue turtle shell on their head with a waiter’s outfit on.) (You can’t really see their face, but there’s a hole where you can kind of see an eye.)

[…] - “Should I even feed you in the first place? Perhaps even poison your food? Do you prefer opioids or stimulants?” Badobarm - “Thank you. But can we have a menu?” […] - “Sure. I was just thinking about that.” […] - “I’ll leave you to it.” Tuxam - “If my assumptions are correct, that’s the chef?” Badobarm - “Yup.” Tuxam - “I’m more curious… How did you find a place like this anyway?” Badobarm - “I was actually mugged.” Tuxam - “M…Mugged!?” Badobarm - “More or less.” “But the owner here offered food, so I thought to myself—hell, why not?” Tuxam - “I’m glad you fed yourself that moment, but you should be more careful than that next time…” Tuxam - “Wait—Did you even know what was in this food…!?” Badobarm - “M-More or less…” Tuxam - “B—Badobarm!” “Be more careful next time.” Badobarm - “…But they did also give me a menu—with all the listed ingredients like this one. Look—still the same as I first saw it.” […] - “You told him that story…” “It was so embarrassing…” […]- “…Eh.hhhhhh. You even scolded me on my posture…” Badobarm - “But it’s true—“ […] - “Nope! Nope!” “LaLaLa! I can’t hear you!” Tuxam - “I presume you’re here for our orders?” “I’ll take the [Food Item #1] and [Drink #1]” […] - “Ah… I almost forgot.” Badobarm - “Then I’ll take the [Food Item#2], and the same drink as him.” […] - “I’ll prepare it 30 minutes tops.”

(“[…]” leaves) (A little time skip because I’m not writing a 30-minute conversation) (Woah...!! It was so moving and uplifting that suddenly 30 minutes passed!!!)

Badobarm - “There are many people in Bad Badtz-Maru Kingdom who are like that—good or bad.” “So, Tuxam! Elevate your expectations to the highest level!” Badobarm - “You have nothing to expect here, only the greatest experience that I can give to you.” Badobarm - “And the food here will be great as well.” Tuxam - “I’m quite sure your statements contradicted each other—but please take care of me!” “I’ll trust you with my life for just today.” Badobarm - “Hahah! You’ve chosen greatly.” Badobarm - “Following me will bring the greatest of fortunes—never a disadvantage!”

(Badobarm receives a forehead fling from the turtle-head assailant.)

[…] - “Keep quiet, you.” […] - “If I can hear you in the kitchen, so will others.” “—(Sigh). The food is prepared.” Badobarm - “That reminds me.” “For a chef, you didn’t even introduce yourself.” […] - “Nnnhhhh…” “But I don’t want to?” Badobarm - “Don’t be lazy.” “Just say your name.” […] - “(Whispers)” Badobarm - “A bit louder.” […] - “(k…)” […] - “(…ae)” […] - “Badobarm… Do I have to?” “People… Y’know?” Badobarm - “Tuxam is a friend of mine.” “He’s a bit… Critical—but if you’re trying your hardest, no matter how bad, even he’ll praise you.” Tuxam - “Hm.” “If you’re too shy to introduce yourself, why not I introduce myself to you?” Tuxam - “I am Tuxam. I came all this way here from Tuxedo Sam Kingdom.” Tuxam - “If you follow my example, even conquering shyness will become easier.” Kae - “I am Kae.” “A chef.” Tuxam - “An excellent introduction.” “I give it a C-.” Kae - “…A grade!?” “Maybe I shouldn’t have introduced myself in the first place…” Badobarm - “But isn't a C- still passing? If you raised your voice, even that could be a B like in Badobarm.” Kae - “If that were the case, I wouldn’t want a B if it meant associating with you.” Badobarm - “Ouch.” Tuxam - “Ahem.” “It only means you have a long way to go. If you talked as you did earlier, and maybe a little more friendlier… I think it would be passing.” Tuxam - “If this were my hometown, it would have been admonished as a D until perfection.” Kae - “…Huh!?” “Are you a tyrant!?” Tuxam - “No!” “Even better—” Tuxam - “A gentleman!”

Badobarm - “That makes me think…” “What exactly is a gentleman to you, Tuxam?” Tuxam - “As his Lord Sam defines it, ‘someone who uplifts and inspires the people around them!’” Badobarm - “(So like an idol?)” Kae - “(An idol…?)” Kae - “I’ll… I’ll take my leave now.” “I don’t want the meal to get cold and mediocre.” Kae - “Please. Enjoy.” Badobarm - “Let’s dig in.”

Tuxam - “Yes!” Tuxam - “…!” Badobarm - “Any thoughts, Tuxam?” Tuxam - “I…It’s good!” “A single bite and I want more…!” Badobarm - “Great!” “Say more as if you’re a food critic—I want Kae to bear the overwhelming end of compliments and praise.” Tuxam - “Then how about this?” “I’ll make sure to write a letter with my full thoughts about the food I had the moment I return home.” Badobarm - “Sounds great.” Badobarm - “(But I get this overwhelming feeling it’ll be more than a single page…)”

Badobarm - “Ah. That’s right. Even the view here is only a glimpse of Bad Badtz-Maru Kingdom.” Badobarm - “There are more between the corners and alleyways.” “I’ll take you to places where no one even knows.” Badobarm - “Full already?” Tuxam - “Finished. The meal was superb.” Badobarm - “I’m glad.” Badobarm - “Take my hand, Tuxam.” “We’ll do the same procedure as we entered.”

Additional Information/Tangents -

Kae (Knight of Fragaria to Lord Kahme) -

An anti-social knight who dreams of opening his own restaurant and desires to cook for his lord every day for breakfast, lunch, brunch, and dinner.

Kae doesn’t appear to understand social and societal norms.

Kae - “I hate Badobarm but I tolerate strangers.” “There’s a difference. and it should be known.”

I wanted to insert this somehow but I couldn't.

I don't know if I'll be able to write the middle portion but it'll basically be Tuxam who asks Badobarm if he can shop clothes for him. Badobarm agrees. I might or might not write it? It depends on my mood, really.

(But I'll probably describe the "mood" of the outfit rather than intently describing the details) (I'm hesitant because I don't want to describe an entire outfit ; w ;)

(if i never finish this, ill probably post the ending portion without tagging)

(I'll likely keep the top half but not the part where badobarm and tuxam buy outfits for each other) (embarrassingly, i have a reason to not consider this...) That One Draft I Have #1 -

if you dont know what quotev is I'm happy for you i know its a silly reason but I can't get it out of mind and it haunts me?? or maybe im just tired?

(the images are related to the concept but are at different points in time) I Really Like This And I Kinda Want To Write a Hangyon-Tuxam Sleepover That Isn't Related To That One Thing I Wrote Draft #2 -

ichi is chip's knight of fragaria, he is dead

Hangyon - “Don’t you remember Tuxam?”

Hangyon - “The night we had together?”

(Tuxam who lightly whacks Hangyon’s head with his ice cream stick)

Tuxam - “Don’t say it in a way that misunderstands others.”

edit 1: sometimes you write something for a month and realize you forgot to detail the setting AND AT THE START OF THE STORY AS WELL so basically: tuxam meets badobarm at his office and then they go out (probably implied well as text but I needed to add necessary detail </3) i already submitted this and i will live with this pain… it’s like early in the morning and i am weak without willpower

[cuddlycryptid]

im sorry if you still think about me

but my life is so much more beautiful in your absence

i have blossomed into colors ive never known

opened my trembling petals and found myself

in a garden bed of lovely, soft earth.

when you clawed a hole into your own chest

i wept, my roots choked with your blood,

but now, now!

the sunlight that was obscured by your shadow

has reached my starving leaves

and reminded me of the beauty and the love

around, within, me.

im sorry if your wound still festers

but i have grown so much in your absence and

i have bloomed and bloomed and bloomed

[bigfemboyenergy]

Maybe my love is jealousy.

And maybe I’m okay with that.

The thought doesn’t sting as I expected it to. It’s clear, ringing proudly with its truth. I thought I would be hurt, that it’d be a lie, but- something in me tells me it was all pretend.

Yes, there are things I want, but having lived without them, having little to no yearning for them; it begs the question, “do I really need it?”. And the answer, I must admit, is no. Once again, I think of starting with, “it hurts to think,” but that is oh-so terribly wrong.

I feel nothing, you see. The emotions have drained, the love, the thoughtfulness, the excitement, all gone. In this quiet abyss of clear, clean glass, the things I see, some reflected back at me.. I expect them, the realization of them, to bother me. But they don’t, my heart doesn’t ache, no pain comes to mind. Only a calm recognition of genuine feeling.

As I said, maybe it’s all jealousy. And maybe I really am okay with it. The thought doesn’t bother me, that desperate thought of want, when I don’t think of who already has it. I felt broken and defeated, like I was slow to the finish, but in this moment of dire calm, it all seems fake. Who would’ve thought? Who would’ve guessed? Very obviously, I did not.

The clarity in my thoughts is unusual, and once again, I think to describe it ‘painful’; and once more, I remember that it is not. An odd cycle of the idea of hurt, but never feeling it. I feel empty, I feel cold, I feel uninspired; all identifiable, and easily so, but this phantom pain.. it bothers me. Why did I think it would hurt? The downwards spiral, the anger, the lashing out.. It was never real, was it?

A fabricated thing, meant to demonstrate how much I felt ignored and behind. Of course I still feel those things, but in this moment of peace, they are dimmed and almost not even present. It makes me wonder. All of this does. But the answer is clear, I know it now, and I’ve come to accept it. The first thought was the realization, and the second was the accepting of it..

Oh poetry, how I loathe writing you in manners I cannot properly express. But this, this is on another level.

In the freedom, I cry, but with no reason. In the freedom, I shake, I shiver; but with no reason. In the freedom, I scream, I claw at the suppressor, but remain the suppressed, and with no reason for it. As it turns out, I am not free. I am in an enclosure, a cage in my mind, of my very own volition. I put myself in there, and so I shall be, never found. The bones rot, the skin rots, the flesh burns. But in that little holding cell, that small, insignificant piece of me will remain.

The scars can’t all heal, but as I look, I do not see. Scars? No, there are none. The silence binds me, but there is no hurt. The lie of feelings strikes me, in my downtime; but in truth, it was never there. A phantom, like me, hidden deep inside. The anger, the frustration, ripping and tearing; but the pain from it, I never feel. They never were real.

My eyes flash open, body sweaty and hot, trapped and twisted under blankets. The- the dream.. what was it about? That fear, that fear of the psychological implications.. I shudder, taken aback by the fabrication of thought. Everything feels different, deeper, more meaningful; and yet it feels so bland and unimportant, unnoticable.

Shit, I have things to do. The thought hits me, and that coldness, that unsatisfactory feeling, spills out. My eyes, I notice as I look in the mirror across my bed, are green. They’re supposed to be..blue.

My feelings, in their return, spike. Fuck, fuck, fuck! God, I can’t- I can’t control it.. the anxiety.. shit, fuck, shit! The physical cold, now hits me. It isn’t just my eyes. My hair is a glowing, flowing white, skin deathly pale- I transformed in my sleep. No wonder I feel like shit, really. But now I wonder- has this happened before? 

The nervousness descends on me like madness. If anyone had walked in, I’d be.. done for, really, no other way to say it! To myself, I mutter, feeling almost stale and frozen, “I need to change back. Now.”

Thankfully, a flash erupts across my body as I’d wanted, and my hair is black and eyes blue once more. As they should be. As they were before I’d died.

With an exasperated sigh, I slump, sitting up in bed. The shock of waking like that really might mess up the rest of my morning.. What was going on in my head? I feel a reverberation, almost, of this “love” theme. I can’t remember it anymore..just the strange, horrible feeling.. the cold.

Oh, that’s right. It’s Christmas again.

I flop back down on my bed, stretching out as I stare up at the ceiling. I hate Christmas, I think to myself, feeling hopelessly lonely. Sam is away with her family, probably on some rich people tropical vacation, and Tucker is in a different state for the holidays. I feel so alone..but at least there’s no- no, I wouldn’t be feeling lonely if there was school. I'd be distracted. I take it back, rethinking it. Maybe I just have seasonal depression, or something. Not like I have a therapist to help or things to do, though.. 

And then I remember, thank goodness for it.. I do have something to do. When I woke up, I realized.. That’s right, I have work. At the thought, I sit up again, and slip out of bed with a stretch. My job isn’t really fun or anything, certainly not fulfilling, but at least it makes me money. For winter break, anyway- that’s my time. It’s a meager ice rink, but gets tons of visitors during the snowy season, so it’s the best time to forget my frustration..

..Unless ghosts attack. In which case, I will gracefully take it out on them. I mean, they chose to show up, it isn’t entirely my fault if I’m mad then.. The distraction is appreciated, anyway. No Sam, no Tuck? I don’t have anyone or anywhere to go, not until they come back…I’m so jealous of their being out of town, almost.

If I could have a break from ghost attacks, I would- but it only counts on Christmas day itself! Too bad it isn’t that day, I guess.. but I honestly don’t want to think about it. It’s going to be so stressful, trying to act like a family again. Every single second, I feel as though I’ll be caught. Not a fun feeling, not at all..

Ah. At least I have Jazz, I remember, albeit a little sadly. For once, she isn’t too busy. But there’s something that stops me from talking to her.. The lack of motivation, maybe the mood, ‘cause she’ll clock my sadness in an instant.. God. It feels like I both can’t catch a break, and yet never let myself.

But no matter. Work comes first, right? I can’t help sighing, wanting to curl up in my blankets again. It’s so awful, having to think like this.. I don’t want to think like this. It’s not like the crippling sense of loneliness cares, though. I force myself to walk to my dresser and rummage through the clothes for my work uniform. If I’m going to feel cold and empty, might as well make money while I do it.

[the-sun--does-not-melt-ink]

Rejection Sensitive

It'd be neat to have upset feelings about things other than you

We could talk about them and everything would be fine

(Because you make everything better)

Instead, I frame my fears to be about school

And pretend I haven't cried

(Cried in my car every other week)

(Cried everytime you say you're hanging out without me)

(Cried driving home cause I couldn't stay

in the parking lot all day)

I come across as cold and annoyed,

when I throw my hurt feelings into the void

But how can I show them

How can I tell you

Without being dependent

Or keeping you from something new

I get why you're always leaving me

Cause I'll never leave first

Or if I do

It's only cause I'm hurt

But I don't know how to want to leave

It's no wonder you get sick of me

[mr-gentleman-scientistt]

I bring a sort of genuinely really struggling mentally vibe to the function that well adjusted people don't really like