I have always wished that I was an illuminating girl: the kind that smiles and lights up the world or twirls her hair and sets the world on fire.
The truth of the matter is that I’ve never had a beautiful smile or this airy glow. I’ve never been bird-like, fae-like or aerial in any manner that didn’t award frequent flier miles.
In youth I mourned the tragedy in my features, the darkness in my thoughts that spilled out of my mouth in crumbling dissertations of illuminating girls: pink stained, doe-eyed and sun-kissed wonders.
In youth I cried over my square face—the strong, masculine jaw, button nose and purple-toned lips. I wondered what it was like to be beautiful: read stories with tear drizzling down my cheeks of those girls with beautiful smiles.
You reflect the person that you are, and I wondered why I lacked in delicacy: why my heart always filled itself with anger and hardness; why my eyes never shone or face radiated.
I am twenty, now, and the injustice was not, or was it ever, against me. I am a beautiful girl; in my heart and in the way of ravens. My purple-toned lips have created laughter and tears—words that radiate feeling and have created love. My eyes have read millions of words and hundreds of books; my heart’s resiliency is reflected in my jaw and oh, how I wouldn’t trade my mind for anything else but me.
I am twenty, now, and I rejoice in being alive—in falling in love with who I am in my entirety, in my intricacies of drying skin, wide smile and button nose. I am happy I am here; growing into somebody nobody else could ever be.
How did you and your boyfriend meet?
Hi! Happy early Valentine’s day~ I don’t want to forget the story, and I’ve never told it before, so I’ll go ahead and start so I can save this :3
Me and Christian met on League in June 2012. I was, I think, 1820 elo then, and he had gotten back from Korea, so his elo decayed to about 1850. Solo que matchmaking placed us in four consecutive games together. I didn’t know who he was, but he was on our team the first game, and he was playing Lee Sin, and I was playing Janna! I flash shielded him to save him from a turret dive, he got a triple kill, and I jokingly said “You are my king”. He replied with a smiley face, and I’m not sure if we won or lost that game.
The second game, he was playing top Malphite and I was playing bottom Soraka. He was on the other team, and dove me all the way to inner turret at 10 minutes :( ~ he continued to do it, and the fourth or fifth time, he ulted me and left me at 1 HP. He walked away, and I remember him saying “I’ll let you live this time ;)” or something like that, and I just responded with a sad face. He won the game for his team (our top went something outrageous like 0-10…. hence why he was always chasing me across the entire map T____T;)
The third game (I don’t remember the fourth!) He was playing top Irelia on the other team, and I was playing either Sona or Soraka. In the first five minutes of the game, he’s 3-0, and I remember at like 19 or 20 minutes he has Triforce GA, and I’m just pushing mid with my team. He E’s into me and after that, spends the entire game just chasing me around the map… (subsequently letting me win… ; n;)
After, I friend requested him to say thank you, and he asked for my skype. We ended up at SF IPL Qualifiers a week or so later together, and I think it’s always been automatic for us. (I didn’t really know the extent of who he was until people keep coming up to him in SF and asking for autographs, I thought it was really bizarre… :c )
I’ve never had a boyfriend before, but I’ve dated in highschool and nothing has ever felt this right when meeting someone—and nothing has ever felt so organic when talking to someone I’ve only known for a short while.
I think we both felt that way: just so infatuated with each other—talking and messaging constantly—that we had to meet. It’s funny, though, because even though it’s going to be two years soon, I feel the same like the same giddy, childish girl with butterflies when we talk.
Every New Year that passes without you reminds me of all the ones that always will and they ask me my resolution For Papa to live forever.. and my birthday wishes and what I want for Christmas and Michael’s here and I made dinner and cookies and met the new man in my life and I think of my wedding—my daughters names and my son’s titles and I wonder how can I possibly tell them stories of somebody like you if I forget to write but everything is laced with this terrible anger at you who left me, and I wish I hadn’t known any words at all
I will be twenty soon and it’ll be seven—eight years then and still these late nights are plagued with crying fits and dear god, I’ll be twenty soon—then married without you to give me away can I belong to anyone else or did you leave me: your obituary a motion to serve?
My memories are fading and I lost your voice three years ago—your laugh five years ago and dreams of you these last two. I’m no longer cowardly enough to believe in a heaven just for you, and I think of the hands that would ferry me from car to bedroom—of your back made for piggy rides whenever mother wasn’t around to chastise because you were fifty and aching and I was too old to be Daddy’s girl and not Mommy’s and I know the lines we aged into your hands are gone with your skin: eight years but I’ll still love you to the bones that are left
My older brother received a call at two pm on a Thursday,
That his roommate from college
And best friend from high school;
Overdosed and died,
Last Wednesday night.
My brother is 25 years old.
He missed three days of work, sat at home in the dark,
And cried for the first time in six months.
This is not poetry.
My father is very, very sick.
He sleeps for seven hours,
To build up a half hour of strength,
Just so he can pick me up from school.
He hasn’t been well in over a year.
He prays every night, “Thank you God, for making this happen to me, and not my children.”
I am swallowed in fear,
That soon enough, he will go to bed,
And never wake up.
This is not poetry.
There are thousands of people,
just to have one more day,
In hopes that it will get better.
You people glorify sadness,
and long for your death,
because apparently life,
is just too much of a burden.
Wake up, your ignorance is sickening.
Your life is thousands of times more beautiful,
Than your death will be.
so im cutting my hair saturday and i know im going to hate it and so my brother asks me why i would do it and i know im going to cry over it and be upset and angry and so he asks my again, why? and i tell him it’s because i can do it.
hair is important and worthy of thought and its beautiful and mine almost touches my butt and i look at it and i shouldn’t care so much about something so superficial and vain and so thats why—thats why it’s all coming off and why im going to cry and do it anyway. because im nineteen and still a child and it’s time to grow the fuck up and stop caring.
you’re so fucking annoying