I Saw On Pinterest This Post Of (I Think) A Tumblr Post Of A Poem. One Of The Lines Went "I See Love

All Girls are Angels in Their Dreams.

writing: Everyone is watching and looking and judging. I'm just meat to be consumed by others, I'm for others. And I should be grateful, oh please eat me and spit out what you hate. Pretty please sink your teeth into my flesh, eat me. Don't worry about the pain, I should he grateful. I am. I am. Don't yell. Use my flesh to silence your anger, your pain. Please. Oh do I hate this dream.

every time i look in the mirror its someone new who stares back at me.

a face, with features i have had since birth, changing every 34th second

yet every time i look at my reflection it is the same little girl who stared ahead at me.

a face, with features i have had since birth, the solemn look i get when the tide is just out of reach

For I am become the great pretender betrayer of a youthful me

As I pretend not to be bothered by my bff who questions 'why wouldn't you want to be soldja boy?' a youthful me asks my mom for two halloween costumes since you're not allowed to be a bloody zombie little girl with a knife at school in the second grade

As I pretend my bff is right when she says we can't even at the bare minimum be mean girls since 'none of us are blonde' a youthful me describes to my dad the terrible tumble zombie Alice took not only down down the rabbit hole but down down a muddy cliff and that's the reason her hair is brown

As I pretend not to care when my bff calls my guy 'weird' a youthful me demands that if I must date a man he cannot be conventional in any manor

As I pretend to be unharmed by the unexplained absence of my bff at my clubs squid dissection a youthful me is ostracized and abandoned by her only friend

As I pretend the barber cut my hair wrong when my bff tells me 'it's really short' a youthful me wanted purple and blue died hair cut in a shaggy mullet

As I pretend I don't hate my new skin so much that I claw at it raw and bloody a youthful me swore it 'would only be once and I'd never do it again'

Reblog if you ARE a woman in STEM, SUPPORT women in STEM, or ARE STILL BITTER about Rosalind Franklin not getting credit for discovering the structure of DNA and the Nobel prize going to Watson and Crick instead.

I dance around my room on halloween at five in the morning, so I can wear my costume to school, and I listen to three cheers for sweet revenge by the alternative band my chemical romance on cd.

I have been looking for that cd for almost a year now I just got it over the weekend

I have had you for almost five years now I don't know why I'm still looking for you

I am made of flesh I am made of bone

most of which is my very own

I am made of muscle I am made of skin

the likes of which resembles my kin

I am made of stardust I am made of rain

I carry with me my mothers pain

I am made of laughter I am made of sorrow

I am someones dream of a better tomorrow

The anger was just boiling up. I didn't know what to do with the excess water. It was overflowing the styrofoam cup and I needed to put it somewhere. I needed to throw something. I had to punch someone so hard it hurt me more than it ever hurt them. I grabbed my scalding cup and poured. A whispering drizzle ran down the hill side drilling into the dirt digging at the rocks breaking the dam of soil to bring forth a rushing river. Hurt yourself. I pounded my fist into my thigh. Hurt yourself. I scratched at my arm nails on a chalkboard. Hurt yourself. I didn't stop when I started bleeding. Hurt yourself. My skin was stuck under my nails. Hurt yourself. I was drowning head down in the deep waters so hot it was icy cold to the touch. Hurt yourself. I liked it. That hurt the most.

If I were a runner I'd be a sprinter

And if I were a painter I'd never buy varnish

If I were your rich great aunt I'd bore you with stories of a drunken Italy

And if I were a mother I'd eat my children in one sitting

If I were your girlfriend I'd be the summer to your tom

And if I were a musician I'd have five singles you had to buy separately and burn onto one disk

If I were a writer I'd be a poet

And if I were a poet I'd never breath a word of this to you

You do poems? that’s kool b/c I used to do poems during my 8th grade year- I use poems to express my feelings sometimes. Makes me happy, what about you?

Yeah I started doing poems in 8th grade too. It helps me get out of my head I don't very much like it in here but being able to see it out there makes it easier. Sometimes I write stuff that makes me happy but usually its the bad stuff that I need to get out. I've been doing good so I might post something more uplifting soon. I hope you continue writing it is a beautiful outlet.

to the girls singing please please please (sabrina carpenter) in the hollister dressing room at the mall

thank you for helping me stop and smile

the human spirit is indomitable and I needed a reminder to once again find love and hope even in the darkest corners of those dank as fuck changing rooms