Pendants and tattoos.

Pendants and tattoos.

Elisabeth’s routine that day was very similar to all the other days. She woke up looking like what she would call “a tornado mess”, wore a t-shirt with a baby elephant’s picture on it and ate rainbow cereal. Of course, every choice has a backstory to it. Her sister had died because of a tornado and Elisabeth found humor and realization in calling herself a tornado mess. She used to live in a village when she was only eight Continue reading Pendants and tattoos.

Hope and caution. 

“If only you knew how terrified I am.” – Unknown

I’m the pieces of a puzzle no one wants to solve. Not even me. Why would I when it will only make an abstract image that makes no sense? Why would I when I’ve been told time and time again by my own heart that I am not worth it, that I am not good enough?

Fears reside in the darkest corners of our minds. They’re the monsters I fight. The demons I try to contain. They’re my invasions. I know I’m not perfect, and I know no one is, but I’m just a tad bit more imperfect than you, and that just haunts me.

I don’t know what makes me imperfect, but something does and I’m pretty sure people get annoyed when I talk too much about it. Every time I say something, I’m afraid that soemthing will go wrong. Every word of mine is wrapped in hope and caution.

I’m afraid. I’ve always been. And so when I’m asked about my story, I just smile like it’s no big deal and ask them to repeat theirs for the thousandth time, and I find joy in the subtle changes in the story that they make to make it more memorable and perfect. Every time they speak about scars, I close my eyes and feel the skin under my sleeves tingling with sensations of blood and pain. I smile and talk about how beautiful they look in their crop tops and funky hats. Every time I burst with excitement and say something stupid, I stay quiet and regret it for the rest of the day. Everytime I have a story to tell, or a new hobby to show, or just want someone, I just listen to music and find my solace in the pretty words and crazy beats.

Every time I am at a party, I dance a little softly and eat not at all, because I want to be invited the next time too. Every time they crack a joke that I don’t understand, I laugh anyway because I’m sure I’ll understand the next one. Every time someone shares their food, I ask twice and then confirm one last time before having the smallest piece I can find, and saying Thank you. I want to have more, but I wait for them to offer.

I dont have a best friend. Unless you consider 234 pages of a white notebook that I carry with me everywhere a friend. I don’t write diaries because I don’t understand the idea behind it. But I do write poetry which reflects my life as a beautiful world and me as a happy being. But sometimes, it’s sad and just not good enough. Quite like me.

They call it Atelophobia.


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Snow.

“We are like a snowflake. All different in our own little way.” – Unknown

  1. She wasn’t the perfect six-fold symmetry crystal. She had four white feathers spread throughout unevenly. She wasn’t a Polaroid. But she was what made you believe that you could be beautiful anyway. So when she walked towards him wearing a dress with flip-flops, no mascara and a messy bun, he fell in love. That was it. Love at first sight or whatever. He saw her and he just did. She was beautiful. She had small eyes, and a wide smile. She walked with heavy strides but her touch was soft. She was a beautiful paradox wrapped in glitter that spread.
  2. He was the ice crystal that you see in the pictures. Perfectly symmetrical and totally adorable. He had messy hair, the kind you want to play with. And deep eyes that you could look into and feel alive. His voice was music. He was the kind of guy that would hold the door open for you. He was perfect, really. Except he wasn’t for her. He had the perfect walk, and the right jokes up his sleeves, and long drives waiting for her. But it wasn’t it. He was the six-fold, and she wasn’t. Heart-break took a feather off, maybe.
  3. It was a six-fold. Because you know, dogs always are. So when I picked him up, and cradled him like a baby for the first time, I couldn’t help but name him Snow. “Woof”

A small letter for Santa from me. I have been naughty and it was worth it.

Merry Christmas. ∞


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