This is essentially my virtual diary. If you've happened upon it, please either leave it be or remember that the mind of a teenage girl is a hurricane of emotions. Mine are usually fairly fleeting, as you may be able to tell.
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I long for the stability that you couldn’t even pretend to provide me with if you wanted to. I’m not sure if you do, anyways.
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don’t make me wait until the last chapter before I know if there is a twist ending. I’d much prefer books with a steady burn throughout, a story that speaks for itself without the fanfare.
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She walked through the world like it was a performance art piece; proudly presenting her boldest, weirdest, most carefully curated side for all to admire. I’m sure the show captivates many but it has the tendency to do the opposite for me; who is she, actually? Why does it feel like I still don’t know? I’m sure others go crazy trying to figure that exact thing out but the thought makes me tired and truthfully, I’m not sure how much there is to figure out. She remind me of past partners but not in any of the obvious ways- just in the way that she makes me feel. Like she doesn’t actually see me. And I can’t see her either, despite how hard I try to.
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There are many ways to read animal poems, but the thing that I like most to keep in mind while reading them: I am an animal, too, reckless and brutish and full of need. I am complex and hungry for survival and while I am witnessing the animal, it is often witnessing me, too. My world, after all, is not the only one.
Ada Limon (via swamplands)
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And anyway it’s the same old story — a few people just trying, one way or another, to survive. Mostly, I want to be kind. And nobody, of course, is kind, or mean, for a simple reason. And nobody gets out of it, having to swim through the fires to stay in this world.
Mary Oliver, excerpt of “Dogfish”, in Dreamwork (via antigonick)
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