furrann

unabridged.

them: “why’d you cut your hair?”
me: “because i don’t want boys to hit on me”

them: “why’d you cut your hair?”
me: “because i broke up with my ex girlfriend yesterday and lost all my insanity pills”


them: “why’d you cut your hair?”
me: “because i wanted to?”
them: “why?”
me: “because i like it”
them: “you like it?”
me: “yeah?”
them: “why?”
me: - enumerates all reasons -
them: “why?”
me:
them: “why?”

them: “but you look better in long hair”

me: “go stare at my old pictures”


reactions to my hair

"it’s almost as if you’re trying to look ugly on purpose"
"you look like a kid"
"you’re so cuuuute. so hot. so.."
"should i call you akka (older sister) or anna (older brother)?
"you look like shalaka" (idk who shalaka is)
"i’m not going to look at you"
"i…"
"i like long hair on girls"

the accidental pixie cut.

lensblr-network:

David Martins by Anthony Amadeo
by anthonyamadeo.tumblr.com

lensblr-network:

David Martins by Anthony Amadeo

i made a wrong choice, a bad choice

i’ve sought the root cause from a tree of my own construction

i’ve twisted the truth but it still doesn’t look pretty, it’s uglier than a dead baby floating in my gut i’m not where i want to be though i could have decided otherwise, i have done terrible things, i still do, and optimism has ditched me, i’m so tired of thinking i sleep 10 hours a day i want to find that hardware in my head, and set fire to it. 

god help me. god save me from a life of unhappiness.

nobody cares about anybody’s sadness unless it has to do with homophobia, feminism and other social grievances OR they are Sylvia Plath. if your issue (i.e. my kindle dying) does not fall into the region on the venn diagram that says “of interest to random person” overlapping with “entertainingly, dryly sarcastically wittily conveyed” nobody gives a fuck, not in real life, where few of my friends are fans of confessional poetry and not the internet, where even wikihow asks me at the end of an unhelpful article about how to replace kindle battery “are you an expert on shoes?” making no effort to conceal its disinterest.

like a sudden tragedy, today my kindle became dysfunctional. it’s a horrible thing to happen to a Pratika. i cried for three seconds and went into a crazy, hyperactive tangle of thoughts like “somebody save my kindle” “somebody save me from this dragon sized sadness” - the primary idea being “i don’t want to grow up”. but October nastily showed up in the blind side mirror and said “hello, you’re turning 21! and then you’ll graduate and soon you can’t ask mom to send you money to repair your kindle without turning pink.” and then i told random people about it. my friend bought me ice cream (she gets me) and then I came home from Viman Talkies and put up this status. Now I’m wondering why I need other people to know about this

sudeikat:

"When they don’t love you the way you want to, you mourn that for however long you need to. But then you get back up and you remind yourself. You are not a reflection of the people who can’t love you. You will love again. You will be loved again." - Caitlyn Siehl 

sudeikat:

"When they don’t love you the way you want to, you mourn that for however long you need to. But then you get back up and you remind yourself. You are not a reflection of the people who can’t love you. You will love again. You will be loved again." - Caitlyn Siehl 

(via alonesomes)

(Source: markvomit, via papermagazine)

what i’m thinking when i look away

"drop the act. i want to know what you’re hurting about, what makes you twinkle. i want to know what you’re frightened of, what you think about before you sleep at night, what you dream about when you’re trying not to think about it, i want to know how you feel about me, i want to know what you believe in, what songs you think of when you’re nervous. whether you snore and what you smell like in the morning
you’re a mask of gold, i don’t want. i want the bleeding, breathing skin of you, i want the growing fingernails and whitening hair, that flash of truth in your eyes, the cracks in your lies, i want those.”

together

and when i look at you

 the sun shines from my chest

reflected in your eyes

what the two of us have is a torchbeam 

lighting up a mirror maze

and it’s crazy how

we laugh and kiss from the same place

sloppy:

Marwane Pallas

moth as metaphor

the nocturnal moth sees a white lightbulb and mistakes it for the moon. she lands upon it, enjoying its blinding, bright warmth and then the confusion starts.

she isn’t supposed to be here. the moon is just a faraway reference point, it is just god. like we believe in god but don’t really expect to find ourselves sharing a drink with him but it’s too late, the moth is infatuated: fluttering away would mean temporary blindness upwards is the only escape route no matter what there is that we can’t see even if the safer direction is east but

i’m already confused im a moth and the nightlight is you i’m a little slow adjusting to the dark now that we’re done, but now even the moon isn’t enough

goshtana

A cafe where my first story spilled out of me, frothing like the swell of music in a pop song. You can never plan these things.