Can’t wait to get out of here…à Paris!

I had a dream and I was cutting up magazines making a collage. Then the guy from the magazine came to life and I got so frightened I bashed him in the head with a rock and killed him. I was relieved and continued to work on the collage, cutting him up and stitching him back. Only when I was trying to pin a lemon into his eye did I realize I was collaging a human being. I think I scared myself ‘cause that’s when I woke up.

Everything, and when I say everything, I mean everyone,

can be defined by one’s relationship to others.

Of course, my relation to you does not define me solely, but at the very least, it is one aspect of who I am.

I exist as a daughter, sister, niece, cousin, friend, neighbor, acquaintance, etc. in countless many ways (thank god, not a mother yet).

So I must ask, what, or who am I to you?

A dear friend? Annoying bitch? First love? Passerby?

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This is my Bonsai tree <3. finally started growing =P

I feel anxious and timid, like I’m running out of time. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that I just turned twenty? Life got so much more serious and I don’t like it.

I feel small. I am speckle of dust. I am nothing.

I’ve spread myself too thin, like a plastic wrap that you keep stretching until you rip a gaping hole that cannot be undone.

I am being pulled from one side and another and my limbs are aching. It is only a matter of time until a part of me gets torn apart.

I am running out of time.

"I know exactly how that is. To love somebody who doesn’t deserve it. Because they are all you have. Because any attention is better than no attention. For exactly the same reason, it is sometimes satisfying to cut yourself and bleed. On those gray days where eight in the morning looks no different from noon and nothing has happened and nothing is going to happen and you are washing a glass in the sink and it breaks-accidentally-and punctures your skin. And then there is this shocking red, the brightest thing in the day, so vibrant it buzzes, this blood of yours. That is okay sometimes because at least you know you’re alive."

Augusten Burroughs (via black-wolves)

Daydream

All I could think about was covering myself with nothing but paint and throwing myself against the white wall. I see black and red, but mostly black.

Bare naked, black and red. Dancing.

I see the blurred motion, full of anxiety and frustration. Where all this energy is coming from, I do not know. But I feel it charged inside me, and this is the only way I see of letting it out. I scream. I hear the scream echoing in my head. The paint drips. The silent wall.

But no, the wall is screaming too. It screams with me. It dances with me.

With my body as a brush, I sweep across the wall. First, with my fingertips, thin delicate lines. With my palm, round and smooth. With my arm, I fan the wall in one big sweeping motion. I run into the wall and fall. Press my cheek against the smooth white, along with the rest of my body.

When I finish my story, the wall is silent again. Who says the wall is a bad listener?

"You are not your bra size, nor are you the width of your waist, nor are you the slenderness of your calves. You are not your hair color, your skin color, nor are you a shade of lipstick. Your shoe size is of no consequence. You are not defined by the amount of attention you get from males, females, or any combination thereof. You are not the number of sit-ups you can do, nor are you the number of calories in a day. You are not your mustache. You are not the hair on your legs. You are not a little red dress. You are no amalgam of these things. You are the content of your character. You are the ambitions that drive you. You are the goals that you set. You are the things that you laugh at and the words that you say. You are the thoughts you think and the things you wonder. You are beautiful and desirable not for the clique you attend, but for the spark of life within you that compels you to make your life a full and meaningful one. You are beautiful not for the shape of the vessel, but for the volume of the soul it carries."

Unknown (via black-wolves)

"love makes us sick. it haunts our dreams.
love has killed more than any disease."

once upon a time

More than when I’m alone,

I feel more alone when I’m surrounded by people.

No offense.

이제 스무살.

괜히 우울해진다.

내가 즐겨워 할만한 날이지만

왠일인지

나이 먹는게 그렇게도 싫다

괜히

추억속에 내 자신을 담궈본다/

apparently it takes a typical person 17 months and 26 days to get over an ex… o.O

birds do it

bees do it

even educated fleas do it

let’s do it

let’s fall in love

FUCK RESOLUTIONS

… ‘cause I know I’m not going to keep them.

Still, there are a few things I would like to TRY:

1. Be happy.

2. Be someone I can be proud of.

3. Leave my fucking room.

"Hanging onto resentment is letting someone you despise live rent-free in your head."

 Ann Landers (via black-wolves)