Merriam-Webster’s Word of the Day | 03 May 2017
(adj.) felt in or as if in the internal organs of the body
Never have I ever received a handwritten letter, she recalls mentioning, a half-drunk teenage girl in her first college party. Of course, as it was the least controversial statement in the entire history of ‘Never Have I Ever’s, she was still forced to down a shot of some sickly sweet concoction.
Call her old-fashioned, but genuine isn’t something you could get out of millions of pixels worth of a digital message. Genuine isn’t a 140-character Retweet. You can’t pull genuine out of an emoji’s ass even if you tried.
Genuine is when, after years and years of expertly giving them away, she finally got one back. Continue reading
All I ever write about is destruction.
How my hands catch too many lemons for me to handle. How the citrus seeps into the wounds on my palms (I’m sorry I can’t stop myself from trying to salvage every broken mirror and every broken heart I come across.) But it’s never serious enough. The shapes of my scars fascinate me, and I’m left to wonder why everything only seems to go right.
Maybe there’s a reason why every morning feels like how nails on a chalkboard sound. Or why I feel obligated to hide this sadness from the world. Every mention of it scares the shit out of me and triggers the kind of discomfort only written words can fix. I know how lethal these breakdowns can be. I know the people around me can only take my anxiety in small doses. When do I find the reason to believe that my feelings aren’t snake venom?
I don’t need anyone to tell me things will be okay. I just need to understand.
How do I fix something that isn’t broken?
How do I fix something that can’t be fixed?
A/N: This is a new blog segment called ‘How Does One Deal With Emotions?’ lmao. Seriously though, I’m not sure how to get past this. Especially since I get extremely uncomfortable when people try to help me. I really do appreciate the sentiment, but every time they ask me what’s wrong I feel stupid. Because even I don’t know. So what to do??? ASKING FOR A FRIEND.
i’ve built a palace on this sacred ground with walls more brittle than windows and windows that shatter in the slightest breeze.
in a sense this city was made to fall. thin frames and fragile hearts could only hold on for so long. no one ever told me there was so much beauty in a lost cause. and they don’t stop me from dancing on thin ice.
atlantis shifts unpredictably. one moment i’m gripping at steel bars, the next i’m holding onto broken promises. it shakes me but when the metropolitan sinks into the depths of my sorrow, i willingly go down with it.
i won’t let go.
the countdown to my next breath of air begins. after weeks underwater, my lungs still haven’t surrendered.
secretly, i just wish they would.
Originally posted on A Reading Writer: Much like the colors of the skies, every language is beautiful in its own way—the way they sound and how each word fits perfectly in a poem, a story, or a musical piece. And sometimes we find ourselves wishing how delightful it would be if we could learn those…
via Word-High July: 30 Beautiful Filipino Words — Heartstring Eulogies
When I logged on, the orange circle next to the notification bell was staring at me menacingly. So I clicked on it and to my surprise, today marks the THIRD YEAR ANNIVERSARY of my blog! (Can we raise some roofs and shake some booty?) According to some sources, my blog is no longer a toddler.
My sister is in her room again, spilling tears on her diary pages.
Its leaves shake in fear as it receives lashes of anger and frustration.
We both know it listens more than our parents ever would.