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I am sitting here thinking:

What was the point of uploading my resume to a job if I still have to write the same information from the resume to these boxes?

What was the point?! I am just going to sit here until I become a decayed body because that is just ridiculous to me.

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41.

Quella sera tornai a casa, e madai un messaggio alla mia amica “Ho fatto una cazzata, ho baciato il mio ex.”

Si, era un bel casino.

Avevo avuto la sensazione di non conoscerlo affatto, come se avessi incontrato una persona nuova. Ma il punto era proprio quello; non lo era.

Era la persona che avevo amato, quello con cui avevo condiviso anni della mia adolescenza, esperienze, e circostanze. Era il ragazzo con cui avevo discusso, litigato, e soprattutto era quello che mi aveva ferita. Lì per lì, lo avrei accettato quel caffè. Volevo sapere, e volevo capire quanto fosse cambiato.  Un anno e mezzo è abbastanza, forse davvero è cresciuto, maturato, e ha capito i suoi errori. Avevamo avuto dei bei momenti insieme, e a noi non mancava nulla per essere felici. Se non fosse stato per i litigi, per le discussioni continue saremmo potuti essere una bella coppia.

Decisi che non avrei preso nessuna decisione dettata dalle emozioni del momento.

Avrei aspettato un po’, per capire se era un pensiero passeggero. Magari dopo qualche giorno avrei smesso di pensarci, e la cosa sarebbe stata archiviata.

Ci furono 3 settimane di dubbi, e interrogativi.

Combattuta tra le emozioni, i ricordi, la volontà di tentare di salvare quel che di buono c’era stato, d’altro canto c’era la parte razionale che mi  ripeteva di continuo “non si riallacciano i rapporti con gli ex”.

Un giorno, eravamo in università, nel corridoio adiacente alla biblioteca dove ci eravamo fermati a studiare. Ne stavo parlando con i miei due più cari amici. Mentre condividevo con loro le mie perplessità, Vincenzo, che tra tutti era il più razionale, mi chiese “I sentimenti hanno a che fare con la logica?”

Non capivo dove volesse arrivare, ma gli risposi comunque, dicendogli di no.

“Allora se vuoi accettare quell’invito dovresti farlo. Fa ciò che ti senti, segui il tuo cuore. Non stai facendo nulla di male.”

Loro non sapevano il reale motivo dei nostri litigi, la reale causa della nostra rottura. Non glielo avevo mai raccontato, non perché non mi fidassi di loro, ma perché non ci riuscivo. Ogni volta che pensavo di condividere quel pensiero con qualcuno, per liberarmi, per smettere di trascinarmi quel peso dentro, le parole si dissolvevano. Non ce la facevo. Soltanto il ragazzo dai capelli rossi, che ormai non sentivo e non vedevo più da un po’, era a conoscenza di tutto. Solo a lui avevo affidato quel segreto, e a nessun’altro.

Loro non sapevano i reali motivi, e tuttavia mi dicevano di seguire il mio cuore.

Io, che sapevo invece la verità, mi chiedevo davvero quanto le persone potessero cambiare. Sotto sotto gli concedevo il beneficio del dubbio. Sotto sotto, ci speravo.

Non sono una di quelle che crede nel destino. Non credo che la nostra vita sia già scritta.

Agiamo, decidiamo, prendiamo una posizione ogni giorno, ed è questo che determina il tutto. Credo però nelle coincidenze, nel potersi trovare al momento giusto, nel posto giusto.

Se ci eravamo ritrovati, e baciati a quella festa, qualcosa voleva dire.

Accettai quell’invito.

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Chivalry Died for Women Empowerment


Why do women fight for equal rights? Didn’t they want the favors given to them by previous generations? where they won’t have to work to raise a family.


Looking at the other side will tell you that these women were victims of the system where people will tell them that the dream should be shinning, shimmering, splendid and all they should do is wait for the knight in shinning armour that can provide it for them.


In present time, little by little, piece by piece, fighting tooth and nails, women learned to become someone they wish to have; to be their very own knights in shinning armours. But it never ends, it gets carry on to the next generations. Hopefully, in the best of the bests, it may give birth to a society were chivalry is dead but every woman is empowered.


x

in light with the news that a woman married herself because she’s too sick of men :))

Women from every generations earned the power, it wasn’t free. But definitely worthy of a war!

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i’m across three state lines and i’m seeing you everywhere.

you’re in the piece of amethyst sitting on my night stand, telling me to hold it tight to ward off evil.

in my mint room spray, so similar to the one you like to use as perfume.

in the sword resting against my wall — the perfectly-balanced one that anybody could use if they wanted to win one of our “fencing” matches.

in my m&m mcflurry, laughing at midnight as we did homework and art and nothing and everything together.

in all my favorite happy songs, and half the sad ones; you’ve shown me so much good music.

in anything pale blue. did you know i hated that color until i met you?

i don’t know what i’d do if you ever left my life. maybe i’d have to start over completely.

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God, sometimes I just feel like I’m bothering you

I hope I don’t come across as I’m complaining

It’s just idk anymore

Idk what I’m doing anymore

God in all honesty idk why you keep waking me up every morning

And I hate that because I know it’s a blessing to see another day

But God this right now it’s just starting to feel more like a punishment

I can’t find anything in my life that I’m happy about

It’s gotten to the point where I see other people happy and I can’t relate to that anymore

I’m just going through life fearing what’s about to happen next

Because it seems like there’s just a pattern of bad things happening to me over and over again

God I’m just in a state of my life where I just don’t think anyone cares about me…

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As you go to one face, another meets you. Each of them has a different side with those dreams, words, & behaviors, you look at each face & see yourself divided between them, only your feelings that clash & you do not know which side you will look at.

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It is difficult for a person to pretend that he does not care & it is more difficult to claim that his feelings are temporary, when often they occupy the large part of his heart.

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Like a safety net made of barbded wire



It’s really dark but I wouldn’t say that I necessarily love it but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it


It reminds me that to deny the murky aspects of our being that we so often choose to ignore is to deny who we truly are


And that’s why I keep the drugs that have a lot of stigma more lowkey than the others


Because I’m not going to push them onto people, the demographic that’s being targeted is already a stable market.


The problem of course is not the drug, the problem is the reason why most people use the drug but the even bigger issue of the benzo epidemic is that people simply don’t know how to dose them (not saying that anyone should) but like people be popping whole pill then they’re popping multiple


I’ve been eating the tinniest pieces of them and it satisfies my anxiety


Not only that but I’m able to reap some psychedelic states of mind with it like I confront things I usually wouldn’t and see how I can manipulate them to go in my favor and through that there’s a lot of healing potential


I don’t think anyone should rely on the stuff and I know I’m that guy that’s like “everything is addictive” but not everything has the same addiction probability and this is coming from the the kid who lost his virginity blacked out on generic benzos

-Ken Sleazy

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You may call me she

But when I sing I am beyond

I am a vessel, divining with the ether


I know this because when I sang and he said “she”

It stung.


And then I lingered on the word for hours after, churning in my seat, wondering what I could have worn or said to placate my dysphoria,

To make them say my name as I would see it then, in the music.

They.

But the other in me cannot seem to force the idea,

I can’t ask people to guess who I am in every moment

I cannot ask them to know me as I know myself

So I just sit

And absorb the discomfort

A weary ‘they’ sponge.

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I had to kill a bug in my Bedroom. At first, I thought it was a shadow. I suppose that I didn’t HAVE to, but I chose to kill it anyway because I was scared. I chose poison, like most Female killers: Clove Oil in an Amber spray bottle. When I went back to check on the spider, it went running in the other direction. It was afraid of Me. I realized that it hadn’t run before, when I was observing it, trying to figure out if it was a shadow. When My Fear entered the room, in announced that one of us could possibly die. The Spider understood that + went running.

With Fear, enters the Possibility of Death, or Vice Versa. Surely the energy in any space fear has entered must shift, in order to accommodate for the possibility of Death. I wonder what the Environment expects when two fearful beings encounter each other. Is it waiting for energy to be purged + liberated from consciousness? How does the Earth prepare herself to become a receptacle for yet another body? - And all of this, simply because Fear entered the room.

In this case, it was mine, but I am thinking about the Kalahari Bushmen I watched in a Documentary last night. When Lions entered their camp, the Bushmen simply shooed them away + the Lions scampered off. I say this because those Bushmen are our Ancestors. Many people like me have met Creatures in the Night without announcing the possibility of Death. If fear Signals the presence of Death, Mother Nature must be confused to see it there, with Me + the Spider. When did I become a Portal to the underworld? When did I become so far removed from my Ancient self that I ask the Earth to prepare for Bodies without giving it a second thought?

Something about Me will still kill the Spider, because I can’t tell which ones will bite + some do. But another part of Me doesn’t want to be the one who announces that one of us could possibly die, when I enter the room. What I’m saying is that I don’t want to be afraid of little Things, but I am. I don’t like that fear has conditioned my mind to the possibility that one of us must die, but it has. There’s nothing profound here, but I don’t like what I see. Yet, I’m accepting it + here it is on my blog- as proof.

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He blinked slowly as his hands danced across the keyboard. His eyes felt like they were burning as he blinked. Yet he still kept going, typing anything that came to mind. Maybe it was to distract himself. Maybe he did this so he felt like he didn’t waste his time staying up. That he was a functioning member of society.  Or maybe it was to avoid sleep, so he can in some way torcher himself. Yet he didn’t really know why he would need to do that. He didn’t feel as sad as he was a few days ago. Perhaps it’s cause his brain was keeping him up with ideas, that only he could feel proud of until he compared it to others. Whatever the case was, he knew he wouldn’t be going to sleep anytime soon. 

No matter how much his body yearned for it, he wouldn’t let it happen. 

Even if the sounds of typing coming from the keyboard sounded like a lullaby in his ears, he wouldn’t give in. A yawn escaped from the brunette as he continued to type. Shifting in his seat slightly. He paused for a moment, looking around the room, the only source of light being the soft glow of the computer. A  feeling of calmness effectively took over. A small smile making its way to his face as he continued typing. His worries drifted off to be thought about later, if he ever let them. 

His brain wracked for any more ideas as he continued his story late into the night. It wasn’t long before he was satisfied with his work and signed off for the night. Getting in his bed at 2:48 am, the warmth of the covers engulfing him like a flame. Thoughts of school took over his mind momentarily, yelling at how he should do his school work, or staying up just a bit later, knowing how tired he would be. But they were easily shaken away as he closed his eyes. Darkness surrounded the young lad as his features softened and breathing slowed.  Effectively falling into a dreamless sleep. Waiting to be woken up and have the cycle start all over again.

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