whitty-boo

I will never be accepted by my peers Because it’s a lie to say that It is my right to be an original person My flaws do not define me Is a lie I am not beautiful I am not perfect Because I refuse to believe that I am worth it I have no power over my destiny And I am lying when I say that I believe in myself Because of my skin, hair, and tastes I should be an outcast And I refuse to believe Someone can understand me If they just listen to me My size matters And no one can convince me that I am pretty without makeup, fashionable clothing, or attention And we will never love ourselves if we believe that these stereotypes define us

I guess it’s kind of funny, if you think about it. You always see in the movies – in the TV shows – people running and screaming and praying and stuff. That’s what Hollywood always thought it would be like. Some sort of ‘death cloud’ or something – or like an asteroid or something like that – that just happened: that just totally hit everybody by surprise. People have known about it for months. It’s not like in the movies. The word ‘inevitability’ comes to mind: and hey, guess what? Nobody cares to run from the inevitable. It’s pretty stupid – isn’t it, if yo

Silly girl, Whose eyes rain crystals, Why do you wish to heal? Do you not understand the beauty Of your ability to feel? Silly girl, Whose grin’s so bright, Why do you wish to change? A soul with no emotion Would appear to be quite strange. Silly girl, Whose face is dull, Why do you live this myth? You choose to be a shadow, Smashing daisies with your fist. Silly girl, With wounds and scars, Why have you chosen this death? No, sinking into your own grave Would be better than such regret. Silly girl, You’ve started to feel, Just recently you’ve started to cry. You’ve been down this path again and again, With a pain

Pain clouds her eyes, like blooming bruises across her vision, and she tears another scream from her lungs, as she convulses on the hospital bed. Blood drips from between her legs, staining the bleached covers in brutal truth, and her eyes roll wildly, searching for him. His name splinters the air, tugged out, breathlessly, between sobs. Their mingled tears chill the air, and her hands claw at his. "If I don't make it..." "Shut up." He roars at her, "You're going to make it." But his ferocity is lost between pleading prayers. He grabs at her chin, that has sunk to her chest in defeat, and his eyes beg hers, as sobs break

Ticks and tocks drip from the frozen clock, whispering four in the morning to the swaying floor. My breath tastes like stars, masked by greedy clouds, and painted in an suffocating autumn breeze. My fingers play muffled chords, between neighbor's snores, to an invisible audience, hidden in the creaks of the house. The air smells of pencil shavings, and stuffed animal tears, and relaxation coats my bare limbs, on each icy breath of wind. "I've figured it out," I whisper to myself in the dark, mind painted in serene shades of green, as my eyelids flutter like drowning paperdolls. Your name falls from my lips when I close my eye

She was conceived on the edge of a mirror, lined with pretty white lace, that burned the inside of her parents' nostrils. She was born with a hole in her heart, that the doctor's never noticed, and no one bothered to fill. She met Death on the playground, when kindergarten was bending her bones. Enticed by the glinting of his scythe, as it preyed on a malformed baby rabbit. She made a pinky promise with him, swearing that she'd never forget his face. He came and went, swayed by corpse breaths and east-coast winds, but always leaving her alone. He showed her how to hurt, in the worst kind of way. And each time, he paid her a visit, he'd ta

Six Word Story: Loving you has become muscle memory. (hz)

When I shall die I ask not for a coffin To display my mortal body To the Earth beneath. I ask not for a funeral A celebration of my life and memory Though both would be soon forgotten I ask not for roses nor lilies To slowly rot away in coherence with me. When I shall die I merely ask for a stone With my name etched onto its soul And of this stone I beg, To remember me Remember I was here , that I existed, For all eternity.

there are too many pills in this world and too much misery in the human heart but that didn't mean that you could just up and leave when we both know it could have gotten better and i miss you like a wolf misses her pack or a goddamn dragon misses her fire and i'm sorry that i can't give you a bouquet of jasmines (they were your favorite, after all, because that was the only princess with a pet tiger) because poppies are too cliche and i'm sorry i wasn't there when all you needed was a hug and for someone to whisper "it's okay, you're perfect enough for me, don't listen to that junkie bitch who just happened to give birth to you" and did

She dances with fire, a dragon in tow. Twirling with flames; graceful and slow She dances tonight, in a city of ash. Her feet leaving footprints, where the sand will splash. Quietly mourning, as time goes by; Where once she beheld a home in her eyes... Yet naught but the barest of bones remain, And so she dances, to soothe the pain.