extremely loud incredibly close

people are so intricate and beautiful and confused and in love and complicated and depressed and busy yet lazy and jumbled and tangled and messy and ugly and laughing and weeping and we're all just such a work of art.
& my name is priscilla

Post Tagged with "writing"

I cannot put my ideas together… My thoughts are like stars that cannot fathom into constellations.
- The Fault In Our Stars by John Green

You make me think about things. You make me wonder why I’m not interesting enough for you. I’m sitting here just thinking about why I’m not good enough, and what I can do about it. But whatever it is that I can do: I wouldn’t be able to fix in time, and that breaks my heart that I can’t be good enough for you, or me, in time.

Because there really just isn’t any time to claim as mine.

The idea of me is not what you should have been chasing after. You should not have asked me out, talked to me because it seemed to be fun, because all of your friends were doing it, no. You’re not allowed to abuse me that way. You’re supposed to approach me because you want to get to know me, because you care about me, because I might matter to you.

But your motives are all over the place and I’m not okay with being a way for you to fit in.

I have no hope in you, so I guess that means I’m hopeless for us. But still, my stomach aches and my heart flutters with every moment that you enter my mind. I can’t stop thinking about you and sitting next to you, wanting you to hold me and to just love me.

I’ve truly lost it this time, huh?

Typing it out was like admitting it to the world. Though it was a private conversation: exposure was the only word to describe the feeling of being stripped naked, uncovered, unprotected and then visible. Redness rushed up her neck and into her cheeks as prickly numbness send shivers down her back. Her heart’s honesty was now out in the open and there was no way to fence it back in. Hoping for a peaceful heart mind and soul is one thing, but achieving it is another. And that is a path of pure madness.

love seems to bring peace into our souls and minds. it is supposed to awaken us and bring us alive. or that’s just what it may feel like after a long fight with madness.

And then I sit here, numbing my sore calves against this wooden chair. Thises and Thats and Thems and Theres are jumbling through my head and nothing comes into focus. So I lock myself away from the bright yellowing lamp and I remind myself that I will always be lonely. Because no one appreciates crazy.

I kind of hate him, and I’m not sorry.I’m not sorry that he feels weird now. I’m not sorry about the place I put him. And I’m not sorry that he’s a dick-face. But I am sorry that it effects you. But it’s okay……………….. it’ll pass.

And I’m especially sorry that I can’t say this too you. My pride is too large for my attitude but I can’t help it and I just hope that you understand this. You’re my best friend.

I know it’s over.Because I was in love with you. I’m not in love with you anymoreThe you I knew is dead and gone and that just sucks.

I like to write about an imaginary character named Cristae. 

She’s a tough girl. She’s a painter/ figure artist. Her life consisted of two building blocks: her paint brush and her man, Tale.

Tale was the only thing that could get this shy girl to smile. The only other thing was finishing a painting. But smiling is impossible, because when he left so did the art.

Her brush only brought him back, and for a few moments she’d find herself in a reverie. 

But it’d all fall on her and she’d crumble. Because he’s really gone.

Cristae has amazing friends, though. They all care about her and hurt at the though of Tale. They understand her pain and love her still despite her drastic changes.

Though Cristae is changing while coping with her husband’s death, she is fighting. 

She’s marching in, ready to take on this world with Tale in her heart.

Cristae is mine, And I love to write about her.

I’ve had enough

I”m done with all of your fucking bullshit. I’m so tired of hearing the false. I’m way passed you, and you haven’t got a clue which way I ran.

You don’t understand me and I used to feel remorse. But now it’s your loss. I’ve tried way to hard to make things easier on you but I can’t pry your ears open because that’s not how they work. You can chose to understand me if you think its worth it.

But I’m done trying. And I’m definitely done being your little minion because that’s not how our relationship is supposed to work. 

If only you’d love me enough to show some care, want, or some try, maybe things would work out. But one sided effort doesn’t get anyone no where. I’d think you knew that by now.

I don’t want it anymore.

I want what you have to give me. I don’t want to beg, I don’t want to push. I want you to just tell me, “Here’s a gift from me to you, I want you to enjoy it, I love you”

How come you can’t do that for me. How come I have to beg, on my knees, crying shamelessly in front of you -and only to get a no.

That’s heartbreaking. I don’t know how many more heartbreaks I can take from you. You ruin me.

No one else’s fault.

You think you know me. You think you know my feelings, my emotions, my reactions me everything.]

But you really know nothing. Maybe you know my habits, maybe you know my favorite foods, but you all don’t know who I am

What I care about, what I love to do, what I feel passionate about, how I hate myself sometimes, how I may hate the world sometimes. You don’t know what gets my blood pumping, or my eyes tearing 

You guys know nothing about me. And I used to think it was my fault. but It’s really all on you guys. 

It was all you.

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