Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
stop my heart
i am tired of falling for the wrong types, for people i can't have. tired, and heartsick.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
paolo
Lately I’ve been dreaming of having a boyfriend like him.
He doesn’t smile a lot but when he does, it’s so easy, happy and bright that it hurts to look at his smile.
He doesn’t say a lot and when he does, it’s most of the time inconsequential nonsense.
He doesn’t seem to care about anything or pay me much attention but he notices. He just doesn’t do anything, but he knows.
He doesn’t care what school I went to, what I’ve achieved, how smart or well-dressed or well-spoken I am. But he always lets me speak as slowly as I want to, and I feel like he listen as if every word is a tune he would craft into a song.
He walks slowly and looks at the world. He doesn’t care if he’s late.
He likes to travel. He’ll go somewhere even if I can’t and he lets me go as well. He leaves all the time, and he comes back all the time, and he’ll tell me everything I want, but not more than I’m interested to hear. I imagine his smile grows broader and easier, his hair messier and his eyes sparklier every time he comes back.
Every other girl thinks he’s somewhat sexy but he looks only for me in a crowded room and put his arm around only my waist.
When I cry he gets sad too.
When I want to be left alone he leaves me alone.
He doesn’t smile a lot but when he does, it’s so easy, happy and bright that it hurts to look at his smile.
He doesn’t say a lot and when he does, it’s most of the time inconsequential nonsense.
He doesn’t seem to care about anything or pay me much attention but he notices. He just doesn’t do anything, but he knows.
He doesn’t care what school I went to, what I’ve achieved, how smart or well-dressed or well-spoken I am. But he always lets me speak as slowly as I want to, and I feel like he listen as if every word is a tune he would craft into a song.
He walks slowly and looks at the world. He doesn’t care if he’s late.
He likes to travel. He’ll go somewhere even if I can’t and he lets me go as well. He leaves all the time, and he comes back all the time, and he’ll tell me everything I want, but not more than I’m interested to hear. I imagine his smile grows broader and easier, his hair messier and his eyes sparklier every time he comes back.
Every other girl thinks he’s somewhat sexy but he looks only for me in a crowded room and put his arm around only my waist.
When I cry he gets sad too.
When I want to be left alone he leaves me alone.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Friday, August 5, 2011
i remember now, how easy it is to live half a life, to keep trying to outrun lies.
to get sucked into that blackhole of quiet despair, hopeless hoping, of feeling not good enough.
i am good enough. i'm good enough for anything this life can offer me. who am i to tell myself otherwise. who are you not to choose me?
circumstances, luck, fate, conventions and rules throw veils over our eyes but this much should be clear to each and everyone of us.
if we get disappointed, if we do not succeed, if we come in last, if we are looked over, if we feel ugly, still, how can we let life lead us to believe we are not worthy?
I am worthy.
to get sucked into that blackhole of quiet despair, hopeless hoping, of feeling not good enough.
i am good enough. i'm good enough for anything this life can offer me. who am i to tell myself otherwise. who are you not to choose me?
circumstances, luck, fate, conventions and rules throw veils over our eyes but this much should be clear to each and everyone of us.
if we get disappointed, if we do not succeed, if we come in last, if we are looked over, if we feel ugly, still, how can we let life lead us to believe we are not worthy?
I am worthy.
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